There’s a bird outside my window. Feathers like neon black ladders coating white meat. Its eye, a soulless marble sees nothing, and through everything. Its talons balance gently on shredded bark, weapons honed over millennia to tear, cripple and make bleed. It’s still, until it isn’t, shifting between taxidermy and lightening. I move a finger and it hackles up, readies its weapons, prepares to die in the struggle. I thank God for glass. I wonder why men ever wanted windows. Evil never leaves through them. It only enters.