This Friday I'm telling stories. Well, one story. About a lady who likes birds. It's a silly little tale called (what else?) The Bird Lady, and I've decided to share it with you in increments each week. It's by no means finished or perfect or any of those other writerly things, but I thought blogging about it would be a nice departure from Photo Shoot Friday as well as a way to keep me writing. Happy reading.
She was out of honey sticks again. Lucy Aires glared at her parakeet, Wren, and snarled, "You're getting to be a damn pig." Wren ruffled her sky blue feathers, glared at Lucy, and then flitted over to a chain of colorful plastic rings and started poking at them with her beak. Well, at least Lucy thought she glared. "Aw, you know I didn't mean it," she muttered in tones of contrition, reaching into the cage to pat Wren's soft head tenderly. The cage was magnificent, a larger-than-necessary dome constructed of wires intricately arranged into the shapes of flowers and hearts. Lucy had bought it on eBay from a woman in Ohio for twenty dollars. Her cockatiel, Finchy, and her parrot, Swan, resided in separate but similarly lavish cages, also purchased on eBay. Each cage had come with its own tropical flower print cover, which the lady from Ohio had thrown in for free. Although Lucy lived in a cottage, she'd devoted an entire room to her birds. Her mother's antique armoire held their considerable supplies, which ranged from food and treats to a plethora of toys and grooming products. Lucy's mother, who hated animals and lived in Canada, would have been horrified to learn of the armoire's fate. The grooming products were Lucy's favorite part of the collection. She bathed each bird three times a week. She'd learned how to do it by watching some woman wearing a safari suit on Animal Planet.
Lucy patted her short, feathery auburn hair and made a mental note to make an appointment for a trim and highlights. Although never a beauty, she had what were considered interesting looks, exotic, even, in the right light. Her nose was pronounced and slightly beakish, her eyes green and hawkishly sharp. Despite being thin and small-boned, she preferred garishly-printed muumuus and metallic sandals, both of which were ideal for South Florida weather. She lived on a quiet street lined with cottages similar to her own, some of which (not hers) had lawns adorned with pink flamingos. She didn't know her neighbors very well and liked it that way, talking to them only to apologize when her birds squawked too loudly.
That's all for now. Check back next week for another (hopefully longer) installment :)