Beton beehives. Thick lint of sun setting sky. Not black, not light, but softly blue with a hint of warm sun, leaving the sky behind. The silhouettes of trees, not carrying the leaves, still burdened by winter and on one lonely branch there sits a bird. Still, as a statue.
She lays back and looks at it. Waiting for it to move. But nothing. Is it a crow or a mere pigeon, cannot tell. Ear catches covered sounds coming from the outside of the stone wall. The bird do not even react. As if it is stuffed and attached to the tree. Yet suddenly a message. Anxious sound, nerve wrecking, heart racing sound of a message. For a second she looks down and the bird was gone as if it was his to deliver. She looked at her phone and read the message.
That moment, buried in such silent chaos, that even her sharp ears could not hear a scratch of it. A man. Nothing else could cause a chaos like that. She sighed, giving it sarcastic tone. It should have been the dead hour, but everything was alive. Unwillin