The little bird flees a Main Coon’s gaze. He kicks off the ground and rides the gust of a happy wind. Takes off, sweeps along the road then up, up through trees. Branches bent, adorned with leaves picked off one by one. The sky hosts a show of swans, an arrow-formed warning. The little bird settles on a branch, searching his company. Another gust of wind steals a golden leaf, carries it to sea. The tree performs a last waltz, nude to the golden moon. Dreading the tight winter cover-up to come.