Unserious postmodern paintings.

The crossbill had been waiting for three days. It did not know why it was there, nor why the room smelled of…

The woodcock had flown into the attic chasing a moth that smelled like regret. It landed, paused, and realized the moth was…

Gary had been promoted to Senior Permissions Clerk after three years of flawless stamping, though no one remembered interviewing him. He arrived…

After thirty years of migratory precision, the jabiru announced its semi-retirement over a poorly timed email to the flock. It now spends…

The dromedary had not blinked in seventeen hours. It had once wandered the dunes, but now it knew the rhythm of refresh…

The coypu had been promoted to Senior Seasonal Adjustment Analyst after three years of flawless data interpretation, though no one could explain…

The koel had applied for three jobs this week: data entry, birdwatching consultant, and temporary mascot for a sock company. It got…

The dormouse had not chosen this life, but it had adapted. It woke each night at 3:17, drank the last of the…

The dowitcher had been waiting for the toast to pop for seventeen minutes. It had counted each second by the flicker of…

The seriema had been promised tea and quiet contemplation by its host, a retired ornithologist with a fondness for avian etiquette. It…

The sparrowhawk had applied for three jobs this week. The interview went well — they liked its focus, its silence, its ability…

The spider had been listening for hours. Not to the ticking clock or the wind in the eaves, but to the quiet…