Scavenger

A rail, buff-banded rail, weaves among the legs of picnickers who loll at ease on the buttress roots of fig trees. It queries fallen fruit with manners so refined as to be indeterminate, its herringbone immaculate. Aloof though underfoot, the rail extracts a crust of pie from picnic residue — no seediness, no trace of table-scrap solicitude for any human hand or face.