Birds are singing as I walk Nicholas down the sidewalk. Up ahead, a woman of about twenty wearing high heels and a denim skirt that only just covers what must be covered stands under a tree looking up. She's very intent on something up in that tree and stares the whole time I approach, which is a long time, since Nicholas is stopping to sniff every stone and tuft of grass. Just about when I'm getting close enough to have to fight the urge to look up to see what she's looking at, she blows a kiss up into the tree.
She turns quick, a six-year-old's pirouette in her miniskirt, and takes off down the sidewalk. As I pass under the tree, I finally look up, and a blue jay flashes out from the branches and swoops down so close it nearly brushes my nose before it flies away.