Unserious postmodern paintings.

The coati had been waiting for the light to change for seventeen years, though it never did. It had read in a…

The kestrel had waited three days for the moth to tire. It had practiced the dive in its mind, rehearsed the tilt…

The narwhal had been waiting for three days. Not for food, not for mates, but for the exact moment when the wind…

The dickcissel had spent three hours arranging its feathers by length and hue, a ritual it believed prevented cosmic imbalance. It did…

The greenfinch had been waiting for the window to open since Tuesday. It had counted the cracks in the plaster, the number…

The smew had been invited to tea by the dowager duchess, who believed all birds possessed innate refinement. It arrived punctually, preened…

The dhole had been retconned yesterday. Not by choice, but because the zoological board voted unanimously to erase its anomalous gait from…

The pigeon had been haunting the attic for three weeks, not with moans or cold spots, but with an unnerving punctuality: every…

The catbird had been practicing its acceptance speech for the Regional Avian Mediocrity Awards for seventeen minutes when the toast burned. It…

The dove had been told to be thorough. So it was. It had plucked every feather from its body, laid them out…

The blue jay had been sold for $2.99 at the closing sale of 'Feather & Frugal,' a store that specialized in discounted…

The blackbuck had been told, in a memo it never received, that beige was the new camouflage. It had spent three days…