They were already at it,
three sparrows in the street,
wings snapping against the rain,
something small between them
The rain was thin,
more mist than fall,
but steady -
the kind that settles in
without asking.
Charlie pulled ahead,
nose down,
reading the ground
like it had something to say.
The sparrows didn’t leave.
They jumped, struck, lifted,
fell back again -
not quite flying,
not quite done.
A car rolled past,
tires whispering through the wet,
and they barely moved.
Maybe it was a crust.
Maybe nothing at all.
Didn’t seem to matter.
They fought
like the world was only that spot
in the road.
Charlie stopped then -
stood still,
watching them
longer than I expected,
head tilted just enough
to take it in,
as if weighing
whether it was worth the noise.
And for a moment
I stood there,
not thinking much,
just watching
how they stayed with it.
Rain on their backs.
Wings half-open.
No decision made.
Charlie shook off
and kept moving.
Didn’t look back.
Left them there
in the road -
still at it,
as if stopping
wasn’t something
they knew how to do.
GBS jr
2025
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