#48

A man with crow feathers stuck into his tattered hat, zagging and zigging around in the grass, laughing maniacally, sweeping his hands in the air as if painting a picture in the ether around him, or conducting an invisible symphony. He hops up onto the edge of a shallow reflecting pool, windmilling his arms as he loses and regains his balance, standing tall and declaring that he is the owner of all the ducks in the pond. Perhaps he is, they do not protest, only continue paddling their orange feet in the shallow water. My nose tickles and I lookup at the sun and sneeze. He says bless you.