Day 17.
This one is harder to look at than most.
Somewhere in that tree — upper right, if you look carefully — is Pico. A small white shape tucked into the canopy, trying not to be seen. If you almost miss him, that is the point.
This is the night he spent alone.
He had gotten separated. He couldn’t find his way back to the library. The crows came first, then the hawks — taking turns, not letting him rest, pushing him from branch to branch. Parrots are not built for this. They are social birds, flock birds. Alone at night, without the sounds of people or the familiar smell of home, they get scared. They get quiet. They hold very still and hope the dark passes.
He was scared. He was hungry. He stayed in that tree until morning.
I didn’t know any of this was happening. That’s the part I keep coming back to.
He made it through. He always does. But this image is my reminder that the world is not always as easy for him as he makes it look.
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Come back tomorrow for Day 18.
— Stooge