It's Still Life

Hols with an O Not a U

Brigid sits near the electric space heater — warmth feeling like salvation as it chases the damp chill off the floorboards.

And there’s a pigeon in the birdbath: it lifts its left wing into the gauzy rain (sheets of it falling, half-translucent), splashing about as if the rain bouncing off the flagstones wasn’t already doing a fine job on its feathers; then it lifts its right wing, offering it up like a supplicant.

She stares past the near-distance at nothing in particular; her elbows a tripod, her chin cupped in her palms, while the crow paces the edge of her desk, muttering in soft, gravelly disapproval.

Brigid sighs, “We need a holiday — somewhere far away, where I can shed these layers of winter clothes… somewhere warm, where a drink with ice makes you dead-sick for weeks.”

“Cawck,” croaks the crow, and she laughs, “No — Colombia. With an O, not a U,” and she reaches for her largest suitcase on top of the wardrobe.

“Pack a bag, crow — we’re going on holiday; we’ll gag politely on Christmas tamales.”

---

Previous Instalments – To access all of the instalments on one page, please use this link

Written for Denise’s Six Sentence Story, including the word “shed”. Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI. Imagery and poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2025.