A lump in throat, a handful of kneaded dough, I threw on raised bank of river. Other weaver, sparrow and myna through branches of tree as they will glide will notice this trap and I will be long gone by. The last day an unnerving myna sat there and I took shot of half-flying wizard, blurring my snap. Today I shot their feed among them and with queer sense they flew away. Oblivion to events they may become in some time and as another passerby, morsel by morsel will divide the lump, the lump in my throat.