Thursday, 8.45am

Sunny and clear, but in the upper 30s. Football weather.

I'm sitting at my keyboard. The parrot, perched nearby, begins softly muttering. His head is cocked to one side. He's listening, so I listen too. In a moment, I hear it: Geese, flying in formation over the house.

“What are they saying?”

What we usually think of as a parrot's shoulders are actually his wrists. He shrugs his wrists at me.

I shrug back. “Rough translation,” I say.

He uncocks his head and looks at me. “Roughly? 'Screw this. We can try it again in April.'”

Geese don't play football.

I look at the parrot, and the parrot looks at me. Seventy million years since mammals split off from birds and lizards, but I think we're both thinking the same thing:

April sounds like a long time.