Unserious postmodern paintings.

Harold found the bird on his doorstep. It did not sing; it emitted a sound of extreme cheerfulness that vibrated the glass…

The magpie waited for a sign. It had spent three years observing the horizon from the sill, certain that a celestial event…

The scallop had spent the morning preparing for a gala that did not exist. It polished its ridges and practiced its best…

The gar had decided that the swamp was too drafty. It moved into the bungalow and claimed the armchair by the window.…

The mule had been told, in a memo slipped under the door three days prior, that beige was the new neutral and…

The bird had been glowing for three days, and no one in the house mentioned it. The widow who lived there brought…

The razorbill had been punctual for 473 consecutive days. It arrived at the windowsill each morning at 7:03, neither early nor late,…

The hornet had stopped being ironic three days ago. It no longer mocked the flower, nor sighed at the sugar water. It…

The wagtail had spent three days pondering whether dampness was a state of being or a punishment for thinking too hard. It…

The waxwing had been told, by a passing sparrow who claimed to have read it in a library book, that sincerity was…

The troupial had been declared provisionally heroic by the town’s unofficial committee of avian adjudicators after it returned a lost thimble to…

The roadrunner had decided, after years of half-hearted sprints, to be thorough. It paused not from fatigue, but because it had counted…