The yellow bird, small, lithe, and cheerily forgettable, with a whistling tune not unlike a Mozart concerto (easily distinguished from those Cageian crows), was a friendly sight, filling the hearts of men and women with glee while terrifying children.
Michael, however, believed that the yellow bird’s song foretold doom. His mother knew he was just being foolish. His father died soon after, though, and he mourned. He was filled with dread by the yellow bird’s second Requiem.