Benjamin DeVos
When the baby blue jay got caught in the eye of a needle, it fluttered its wings with such force that the pinions tore like rice paper, flap after flap, until there were no flaps left. Without wings, it was not a bird but an instrument, a melodious coo of a note that floats along the breeze. Then, when the wind stopped, it was quiet enough to hear the needle drop.
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