Andrew's Fantastical Byrds

The air grew thick.
I turned my head to catch new sounds;
Kicked my old brown boots
 through the sand;      
  Looked around.
Focus.
 Focused.
With a scritch and scratch
 agitating and irritating
A darkling Fantastical Byrd puffed up its chest and
chuntered.            
"You're different. Why are you here?"                      
"Everybody's got to be somewhere."

But it was time to move on.