He’d been shooting the damn blue jays for years.
Their harsh calls annoyed him, and he vowed to kill any
that flew into his yard.
Decades passed and he’d eliminated hundreds of the little
fuckers, and then it happened.
First one, then three, then maybe a dozen blue jays
landed in the big pine outside his back door.
They didn’t call out, they just…stared at him.
Then, he heard it. The loveliest chorus of some sort of
woodwind instrument he’d ever heard, deep in the forest.
As he followed the sound, enchanted, the jays in the pine
watched him go.
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