It was so small. The tiniest ticking whispered at the window. Like a clock made of feathers.
I looked through the glass but there was nothing. No beetle, no pebble, no rain.
Yet when I turned my back, it was there again. Faint but insistent.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
I stopped.
Tick.
“I hear you,” I said.
Tick.
Surely it was some small flying thing. Or leaves falling from the roof and touching the panes.
Tick.
Someone playing tricks?
Tick.
And then I realized…
Tick.
It wasn’t outside at all.
*tuberous begonia
