The grace of a dancer.

Her talons moved swift and light across the dull brown flooring. Her feathered wings brought down trays of food and drinks with such precision that even the most stubborn of guests brought forth a saying of gratitude. And that would make her smile in return, if even for a moment.

The buoyancy of a feather.

It was as if she barely touched the ground, moving from table to table with her hands filled with beverages, meals, and utensils of every size, shape, and color. Yet she kept up with the pace of the customers, as well as that of the cooks and chefs in the kitchen. There was a timing present that no ordinary patron would comprehend. And she continued to glide.

The beat of…

Her feet stopped for just a moment to let a family who had just finished dining exit their booth and leave the establishment. She began to pick up the plates, bowls, and other items, when her eyes caught something she had not expected.

"Sir!"

The man, who was carrying his sleeping daughter in one arm, and was about to reach for the door handle with his free hand, turned around as he heard the voice coming at his direction. Standing in front of him was the robin who had been waiting on them, presenting a small doll fashioned out of cloth. The doll wore a smile with navy buttons sewn onto her face to act as eyes; the straw hair on top of her head barely touched them. Her clothes were simple and clean; it appeared that she had been taken care of with the utmost delicacy by her owner. "I found it in the booth. Is it your daughters?" The man nodded warily, and, with only a small instance of hesitation, reached forward and took the doll from her outstretched wings. He muttered a note of thanks, and quickly exited with his wife and sleeping child.

She returned to her work. Dancing. Gliding. Waiting. A beat.

Balance.

While cleaning off a small booth right next to a window with a gracious view to the park across the worn-down street, she began to think again. It was something she was not very fond of, as when she began to think, she would get ideas. And in her past, the ideas that she would usually carry on with would result in something terrible occurring. Hence, she would be very conserved in where her mind would take her. Nevertheless, she started to think, and in her thoughtful pondering, she looked out across the street to see what her eyes would bring her.

She saw a blue sky, clearing as the day had gone on. She remembered her deduction on that truth earlier, when she had been talking to the blue jay. She hoped that the sky would stay like the way she saw it, forever. Plain. Simple. The park was absent of any activity at the moment. She frowned at the waste of a great afternoon. How she longed to be out there, in the sun and taking a stroll. Instead, she was cooped up inside the diner that she loathed so much. Her wings clenched tightly.

"You okay?"

Suddenly, her wings relaxed. She saw a child, no older than ten, walking along the sidewalk. The child was wearing a white silk gown; very lovely, Margaret thought. Her raven hair came to her shoulders, and her dark blue eyes scanned the grass around her. She went to sit down and play with the soft green material that covered the park grounds. The robin could see her move her hands across the wavy emerald strands, feeling each individual sensation the next blade gave her. The prickling feeling brought a smile to the young child's face.

"Hey."

The child looked at her direction. Her hand stopped moving. Time stood still.

"Anyone in there?"

For a brief moment, she turned and looked at the woman next to her. She saw Dianne's face, then turned her attention back toward the scene she had been watching..

The girl was gone.

The avian let out a disappointed sigh, and then resumed wiping down the table. Dianne began to clean the one opposite Margaret. "Yeah. I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

Silence invaded the two's short-lived conversation. Mindless chatter went on about them; words breathed into existence by those dining which had no effect on either of the workers. They scrubbed furiously at the table surfaces, making sure they looked clean so that they would not be reprimanded for poor work. Customers took no notice of the two, just as they ignored what was going on around them. Margaret closed her eyes and thought of the outside again, not wanting to get her hopes up on looking out the window and perhaps seeing that girl again.

And then, Margaret caught something. She wasn't sure if it was Dianne who had said it. Maybe it had been one of the people holding a conversation elsewhere in the room. But her ears had picked it up, and she heard it loud and clear. She smiled.

"We should get some music in here."

And she agreed.

The crash disrupted the peaceful chaos that had been going on inside the eatery.

"What happened?"

Thankfully, nobody had been injured.

"Oh my God."

"Wow, that looked like a nasty fall."

"Tee hee…"

No one moved to help her up. She stayed there, the trays strewn all over the cold ground. Coming to her senses, she began to brush herself off, trying quickly to get to her knees and pick up the mess she had made.

There was no way she could've seen the banana peel some ignorant kid had thrown on the ground without a second thought. Whilst she had been moving from one empty table to the next, picking up leftover food and glasses, her gliding step unfortunately collided with the object on the floor.

She picked up the items, including the peel, put them on the trays, and struggled to her feet. She looked at the dark figure looming over her. "What happened?" He repeated. The patrons remained silent, not wanting to interfere with the management and remaining quiet about the whole ordeal. The bird simply took a deep breath in and attempted to move past the stoic shape in front of her, plates in hand. It would not move. It gazed down at her with anticipating orbs.

She backed up, and walked away from the aisle of tables she was standing in, deciding that she would find another way into the kitchen, and would deal with the wrath of her manager at a later time. For this one moment, she wanted to be alone. She wanted to disappear. And in this wanting, to her dismay, she had begun to think again. She hated thinking.

As she entered the kitchen, her eyes were stinging. She threw the trays into the sink. She leaned against it, trying to compose herself. Her mind trailed back to that little girl. She saw that pastoral scene; the child playing and smiling happily. She closed her eyes. She saw herself as the little girl. A small red robin, sitting in the glades, peaceful and undisrupted. Calm. At ease. Free. She gritted her teeth. The skies would remain blue forever, and she could remain balanced on those young talons of hers, picking at a flower sticking out of the green, grassy ground. She saw a dark figure approach her. Telling her that it was time to go.

Time to leave it all behind.

She didn't want to go.

She was brought back to the kitchen.

The manager had walked back in.