stinkbird
A ghettolovely moment (kind of like ghettofabulous, but quieter): Last night around 10 p.m. a little sparrow perched on the top bar outside the window near our back door. It sat there, well past bird bedtime, feathers fluffed up. “Little nightbird,” we cooed. The window was open, and scents from the cats’ litter box wafted upward. “Maybe it likes gross smells,” we theorized. “Maybe it’s a stinkbird.”
Throughout the hot weekend, we’d been lamenting that the bars on our windows prevent us from installing an air conditioner. But our little stinkbird reminded me why, ultimately, I’m a fan of bars. They let you leave your windows open on summer nights, and sometimes sparrows mistake them for tree branches.
Throughout the hot weekend, we’d been lamenting that the bars on our windows prevent us from installing an air conditioner. But our little stinkbird reminded me why, ultimately, I’m a fan of bars. They let you leave your windows open on summer nights, and sometimes sparrows mistake them for tree branches.
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