Two Things

The empty chair across the table from me jolted up against my leg. An empty chair at the next table was pressed up against my empty chair. The woman seated at the other table must have shifted in her seat, pushing her feet against her empty chair. The kick was amplified through the one chair, the next chair, and into my leg. She didn’t seem aware of it.

Birds swarm around the pier in a jittery swirl of chirps. They pass overhead, zip down among the barnacle-encrusted pylons, and come up again from the side. Two seperate flocks come up from opposite sides. The groups collide and merge; and the combined group speeds away in a new direction.

The days are getting longer. The sun hangs out past the water in the west sky, resisting the horizon.