COnfetti-Street.
(It's cold, that is evident by the heater rattling, and the mist on the kitchen windows. Fuschia is mixing cream and other ingredients into a mixing like device on the table.)
Talking to each other, the story of the bird and the old alligator.
A bird and alligator talk about the arriving spring. Written by Humidity Dragon. To most who vacationed down in the wet-lands, ie. the migrating birds that just "had" to taste the fish during Alabama's winters, this season was a salty wind of fresh air. They had desired a change of scenery, and would trade their icicle's for low hanging spanish-moss. It was what they'de been waiting for all flight, and now here they had it. The wonderful, mild, and muggy winter with humid under-tones. But, to the alligator, the biggest alligator even, it was still too cold. He was basking, in the morning and even though he didn't like it, he did have to admit: there was just something about watching the winter's morning. "It stays the same every-year," He heard those familiar wings, and knew. It was the same bird who'd been here to bask in the sun too, as she'd been for years now. Not so many as him, but Thye'd talked to each other long ...
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