Sharp, swift flight aching, breathtaking, against slate sky ebb and flow to the feast faux cedar, living bird feeder Below the cacaphony and fanfare, my ying-yang cat sits and stares, moodily, into the distance..... as if such avian antics are below and not above her, and so far out of reach. But, deep in her little kit kat heart, where kittenish ways still paw, starfish, biscuit, the place where purrs come from (and what are purrs, after all? but the resonance of remembrances rubbing together as the rise.) Hidden here, with purrs paused, the secret wish rises, that she, too, had wings.