Breadcrumbs

I slap the board hard trying to dislodge every last crumb of bread from its surface, shaking the tiny forsaken morsels into the slowly yellowing old grass below. Although she would never approve of simply giving food away to the sparrows that come to our garden every time we slice our own bread for a quick lunch, I'm glad to say my mum does have a heart big enough to allow them to at least get something out of what we now find insignificant.
It's days like these that I watch their beady little black eyes, the quick movements of their heads from side to side upon landing cautiously on the ground to get a close up of where exactly the food was today. It's days like these that I wonder what I did that allowed me to live a life in which I am the giver and not the one crouching in the bruising darkness awaiting the kindness of another which is too often, I find, mistaken or something more along the lines of pity.
She may find my antics foolish when I do something like sneak out an entire hunk of bread and go out into the garden to tear it quickly into pieces small enough for their tiny beaks to grab ahold of with ease. But there is a thin line and it's still being defined, between foolishness and a sort of peaceful wisdom.