Ogre

Through the open window can be seen the poplars at the end of the garden shaking in the wind, a wall of green leaves so high that the sky is shut off.

On the white table-cloth a rose in a vase --centre of a sphere of odour-- contemplates the crumbs and crusts left from a meal: cups, saucers, plates lie here and there.

And a sparrow flies by the open window, stops for a moment, flutters his wings rapidly, and climbs an aerial ladder with his claws that work close in to his soft, brown-grey belly.

But behind the table is the face of a man.

The bird flies off.