The cuckoo flew out

The days were beginning to get warm. A wind blew all the time whistling and whooshing past the window grill , lifting and swirling the dead rust leaves in a maddening eddy of one minute glory before settling them tamely down on the streets below. The wind chime, hung in a corner in the balcony, tinkled merrily in an excited chatter . The room was silent . The walls watched in hushed silence the body which lay supine on the mat. The naked torso shone with a matt dim shine , the row of tiny dimples along the ridge of spine and a lone flea hovered daintily above them.

His soul shimmered and trembled within the confines of the body , strained to get out and touch the sky , the trees , the pigeons , the little dark nook in the awning. He lay still , still in a tense strain. As if lying still he could let the soul fly away to far distant land and he would be connected to it through a thin invisible thread and thus be able to do all that he had ever wanted. So , lying absolutely still was the only way he could engage in intense activity.He counted seconds and then minutes. A haze rose above his eyes . He could see small black dots sliding past his cornea like minute rain drops. His breath came shallow then deep. Now. He thought . It is now .

His body creaked and then a window opened and the cuckoo flew out. The chime announced twelve.

It was time to get up and get on with the business of living.