A hundred cousins

Chun is one sparrow. Chun is never, in practice, one sparrow — where Chun lands, a hundred cousins land ten seconds later, and Ume-san's morning crumb tray becomes a weather event.

The bakery queue takes sides. The pigeons file grievances. Ito-san stands ready with a notebook and no applicable laws. Something must be done, and the street watches the café to see what it will be.

It is Watje. The most standard-looking of the Matji climbs the bread crate, waits for the flock's chatter to crest — and begins, one beat behind their rhythm, to bounce. The echo catches. The flock, helpless before a better rhythm, falls into time. Chaos becomes chorus.

Now the crumb tray empties in order, to music, every morning at eight. Ume-san calls it the sparrow shift. Watje accepts no title, but attends every performance. One beat behind. Slightly better.