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The Indefinite Article.

Wednesday, September 10, 2003

there is an island with feathers

on my way home there is an island with a row of meticulously spaced trees planted in it. In these trees a horde of black birds gather at sunset. If you drive by (maybe on your way to blockbuster or even kroger) with your windows down you can hear them cawing at each other. If you walk by the area you can see the white caked bird poop spotting the road, sidewalk, and grass.

What you also see are feathers -- seemingly hurled to the ground, like darts, the way they poke out of the ground.

Pictures soon.


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