Kairos

Kairos

The perfect, delicate, crucial moment; the fleeting rightness of time and place that creates the opportune atmosphere for actions, words, or movements; also, weather.

"This man has too many words in his head."

The bird man stood on the roof, facing the rising sun.

His delicate fingers were intertwined with each other, as his dull eyes watched.

A tall woman, with long black hair hung in the windowsill.

"If you listen to the sky, you can hear the Cello," said the bird man.

The woman had shut her eyes, as if acknowledging the bird man's words.

There was silence for a brief moment; nothing more than two slow heart beats. 

Green eyes looked up at the bird man, "Why do birds land on rooftops?"

"They need rest for their journeys ahead of them."

"Where do they go?"

He thought for a bit, "It's up for them to decide."

The bird man turned his head to look back at the woman.

She looked to face him.

And to his surprise, she smiled, the stitches from her lips contorting as she did so.

"Mornings make way for calming conversations," he said as warm as the rising sun.

Hold out a cup of coffee, "it's to early for you."

He took the cup and sipped it, "am I not normally this nice?"

"Yesterday, you chucked one of the game pieces at the window."

"Riiiiight," he drank more of the coffee.

She giggled, "such a nice morning, makes me want to do something."

"Kairos."

"What?"

"Kairos, when the sky calls you to do something," the bird man said matter of factly.

The woman just looked at him, "you and your fancy words."