(I have a new parakeet,, a young one…)
Buzzard Brain gazed around, cocking his head at my
shirt and earrings. He hadn’t seen these colors before
on me, so I had to explain. “Buzzy, I’m a different
kind of parakeet from you. My feathers molt often,
coming back in different colors and textures, whereas
your feathers stay the same, even after you do molt they
come back the same colors in the same places. You are
like someone who has to wear a special work uniform.
We can still flock together, though, we just have variety.”
Prose Me 