Morning Swim? By C A Middleton 2021
In his cotton gown, Wheezy Richardson lay back. His spine ached these days. Though, it was more out of the lack of burden than the weight of it. He frowned. Above the sirens and groans of passing engines, he sensed something missing. A heavy absence of birdsong.
“It’s like spring woke yesterday, shot a beaked head around its surroundings, panicked and realised it winter’s death still froze the land, so rushed off to hide once more.” Wheezy said, feeling like doing the same. “But, where would that get me?”
“Phoebe, I think Jacques Cousteau is dead, ” he heard Judy explain. The audience roared with laughter.
Jacques had a face like a featherless sparrow. Wheezy wondered if folk would look back at him one day and offer an unfavourable analysis of his appearance.
“First I need to dive deep enough to be noticed.” Wheezy said and reached for his apparatus. After strapping it on, he fell backwards off the side of his bed and swam in search of the locked-nest monster. Sure he would find it in the cavity between his room and Chester Coffee Pot’s.
If only the cheap seats were frilled.