On the windowsill, a tiny piece of land in a glass bowl. Moss and sand. A few black, razor-sharp stones scattered on the soft, verdant wetness. Trapped inside, a bright, dot-like will-o’-wisp; the fluorescent lamp’s steady glow reflected in the glass. Beyond — a flock of sparrows doing rollercoaster rides through the falling snow; a few grumpy crows perched on trembling, ghostly treetops; dozens of sturdy pigeons, ceaselessly looking for food — all bustle and chaos around the frozen slice of summer in its bowl.
