The bushes were chattering: their branches twisting with hidden life. Their jumping leaves were bright with gossip and the blossoms were shattered by the strident conversaziones. The petals rested like detached words on the sidewalk.
The impenetrable languages spiraled and sparred, coiling around the branches like a violent filigree of noise. The bowers of a fledgling Spring shook with an angry din.
But suddenly the tumult was silenced, and the confusion unwound into a shock of quiet. There quickly followed a soft explosion of feathers – an outpouring of flight in a paroxysm of calm.
They fell onto the grass like a brown, flying carpet. They put aside their disagreements and fluttering discords. And they ate in peace.