Sir,
I have arrived in Pannawau after a slight delay, which I record here because it may be of interest to you. Having packed a tuna fish sandwich for the car ride, I decided to stop for lunch at the picnic area of the Colorado Mystery Spot (whose physics, I am pleased to report, remain as ineffable as ever). I hadn’t taken even one bite, however, when I found myself visited by a tiny bird-faced man.
His approach was completely silent. I looked down to unwrap my sandwich, and when I looked up, he was there, standing on the table, his head tilted curiously to one side.
He looked at me.
He looked at my sandwich.
Then back at me again.
I pinched off a corner of the sandwich and he took it eagerly, his tiny hands clutching the offering tight as his beak peck-peck-pecked at the morsel of bread and fish. He bowed slightly when he finished, and then his black avian gaze met mine. Slowly, I sank into that birdy void, and knew the world as he knew it, as the birds knew it, the glory of the air and the updraft, the view from atop the pines. And the owls. Oh dear god the owls…
I blinked, and the tiny man was gone. The sun was setting, and my sandwich had gone stiff and stale in my nerveless hands.
But on to business.
Reports From the Field 