The chatter and twrittering caught my attention before the sight of him did. Then I couldn't take my eyes off him, or rather the camera lens. He seemd to know the lens was there to captue him. Only capture his image, but he acted like the camera would trap him for ever. When I had the camera to my face he was never still, always finding something to hide behind. And never making a noise.
Yet I let the cemera down, my arms aching, my face tired of being squished to the back of it, and he would come closer, stand still for more than a millisecond and twitte and chatter his protests.
Until I moved the camera to my face. and the whole silent, hidden; protesting, visible cycle would begin again.
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