You sit down on the park bench, and watch the pigeons strolling past. The sparrows flit around and chase each other. The pigeons keep their distance, but the sparrows have no fear. Some hop on the bench, but you have no food to give them, so they hop away. And the sparrows flit around and chase each other.
You sit on the bench because you have nothing better to do, and you watch the sparrows. One sparrow -- a male, you think -- flies with another. A female, yes? It's hard to tell with sparrows. They move in close and complex patterns -- perhaps a mating ritual (it's hard to tell with sparrows). Then the female sparrow turns around and pecks the male's head, hard. He flies up in a tree.
And the others flit around and chase each other. The one you watched before flies down, and sits on your bench. You still have no food for him, but he stays anyway. It's hard to tell with sparrows, but he looks sad. You tell him, 'tough luck, fella, guess she just wasn't in the mood, better luck next time, what can you do.'
The sparrow looks at you, and you look at the sparrow; and the others flit around and chase each other. It's hard to tell with sparrows.
Copyright 1993 Edward Gaillard. All rights reserved.