Or Gram Parsons The quickest way to lose me is to write about a finch, a wren, or a snowy egret. I mean, for fuck’s sake. Don’t write about a sparrow and expect me to be happy. If it has to be about a bird, make it about a penguin or a chicken or David Crosby with his variant spelling. Vultures are sometimes fine, but for the love of God, read the room. The quickest way to wither is to write about flowers, any sort. Clouds, sunshine, dewy grass. Shoot the flowers out of a cannon, maybe. Let them knock a bird right out of the sky. Let a cat be waiting. That’s the show. That’s how it’s done. Bye bye, birdie. That’s when I’ll be back.