A morning sky is spackled with an ashen tint like a slate, accompanied by the somber ensemble of tumultuous chants of the world below. Then there is the jutting calcified concrete, puncturing this tapestry, and bewildering this world into a complex maze of rigid metal and stone. Amongst the scene, a house, uniformed like all the others down the row. And in the driveway, a mailbox, made of incorruptible steel.
Then along came a woodpecker, its bright red feathers were specked and beamed, as it perched on the cold mailbox. Nothing in the world could contest its marveled peculiarity. Clangs echoed down the street, like grand cymbals, as it poked at the insides of the box. The bird threw out the trivial letters and bills, sprawling them along the asphalt to be blown away by the wind. One by one, it gathered sticks and built a nest.
But then the next drab morning came—and so did the mail. Sticks were cleared out as the letters were delivered. From the treetops, the woodpecker witnessed, and under the mordant sun came back to build another nest. Every day, the bird returned and built another nest. Nothing was ever challenged, and nothing was ever changed, yet here was this woodpecker.
People were in awe of the bird, indulging in its senselessness by bringing out their lawn chairs. They sat and ogled as it endured stubborn efforts to create its home. And in the morning, they sipped their bitter coffee and glanced out the window to see the mailman tear it to shreds. Read their mail and ignored their bills, getting a whiff of loam from the paper, before gathering their seats to drag out and observe the creature all over again. It never failed to miss a day, condemned to build its home, until one day every tree was cleared of every branch.
Now, this woodpecker was pecking at metal. Tapping tirelessly, in attempts to mold this unalterable metal, leaving only holes for the dismal sunshine to peak through. The first fracture was small. Barely noticeable. But the second and third were twice in size. Then crack. The bird’s beak had split in two.
Awaiting to be windblown, on the silver dust which remained, the bird could only notice as all the people returned inside and locked their doors.
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