Chirp

Soft. Bounce. Sandy green.
The pace isn’t quick, nor is it slow. White and pink flags race against one another, waving, calling, they want to help, but they mostly want to be the one who changes the score. The ground is false, making purchase difficult to find. And interception that slides to a stop would be impressive if it fit in the rules.

Chirp

Friendly. Laughing. Applause.
The autumn night is glad for the company and the air proves that. “Perfect night for it” is exhaled no fewer than four times. The company exults, everything enhanced by the season’s embrace. If asked, not many of them would tell you this is what they “do”; and yet, there’s a consistency in this that wouldn’t be found in most other areas of their lives. None of them are champions, but they keep to their designated roles with moxie. Mostly.

Chirp.

Yup! Yeah! Pass.
They attract a small audience. Rides, darlings, children, curious enlisters, they watch only passively, occasionally focusing in at the sound of the calling bird who narrates the play. It doesn’t last long. Many would say it’s too short. But that’s alright. Next week will be here before you know it.

Chirp