In the Time It Takes to Look Away

Turning into the alley early in the morning, my lips move before I know it. Trying out, a little differently, the answer I couldn't give yesterday. As the words came to an end, a drop of dew fell from an ivy leaf. The morning had not yet passed those words on to anyone. A pigeon perched on the clothing donation bin at the end of the alley paused mid-preen and looked at me. As if I'd been caught rehearsing words alone, we studied each other a moment, and the pigeon was the first to look away. I soon moved on as well. In the time the pigeon looked away, I saw a cat on top of the wall yawning. It seemed a little of the words I'd been rehearsing had slipped into that yawn. The cat finished its yawn and licked a front paw. Beneath the ivy leaves, before the dew could dry, the alley went quiet again.