Two birds fluttering around the garage. One hit the window and dropped behind the passenger side front tire. One bird flew away. We couldn’t back the car out. We poked at it. Called Grandpa. Waited in the car. When Grandpa came, the bird had gone without us noticing. Annika was puzzled. “One bird flew away.” A statement. A question. The first bird flew away, and now the second bird flew away. In her mind, still, one bird flew away. She repeated this for weeks afterwards. Out of the blue she announces, “One bird flew away.” As if checking that she’s got it right and telling us about it at the same time.
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