Two Birds one Hill
They see birds on the hill. Belly-up with their heads turned sideways. The fact that the birds litter the side of the mountain is unsurprising. The air is heavy here, all the smog from the smouldering boulders ascend and hover over the mountains like a shroudlike-like drapery. Occasionally, you can see some of the birds twitch. Today is a Monday, or what they choose to call Monday. The fact is, they have lost track of the days. Tracking the days has been relegated for more pressing needs. Foraging for edible plants, nuts, you know making sure you stay alive. That kind of stuff. They choose to call most days Mondays, after all everybody hates Mondays. With the dreary fog covering the whole landscape, time in itself has been abandoned long ago in the meaningless struggle for survival. The days are all gloomy on the hillside, days of climbing and foraging, they choose to call Thursday, days of rest and little activity, they call Monday. There aren't many Fridays. He is dizzy from chr...