Each year there comes a day on which Lady's Meadow changes its owners. No one knows who initiated this ritual, but Meadowers seem to have accepted and adhered to it unanimously. This power shift gets reflected most vividly in the way the city begins to sound. Human voices withdraw leaving room to the diversity of avian dialects. The pace of human footsteps subsides making way to the rustling of skinny, almost phantom-like hindlimbs, digits, and claws. Echoes of ideological conflicts wear off. On that day they can be witnessed only through silent marks and symbols, nastily imposed on picnic tables, traffic signs, and walls. Out of boredom and ignorance, rather than real intention, one would assume. Retired from their power cravings, in a state of temporal suspension of their appetite for control, humans of not that many kinds sip their tranquilizing liquids, chew their silencing legumin, and observe. This temporary state in which Wife Meadowers deprive themselves of control is, however, rather deceptive. No matter how much space the interests of avifauna are given to sprout, it happens strictly in accordance to human intentions. Regardless of the extent to which the kinetic energy of Meadowers ceases, it does not disappear completely. Transferred into mechanical rhythms of water fountains, meditative deliberations of ventilation shafts, and hiss of air conditioning systems, human will (willingly or not) retains and keeps performing its structuring potency. For a careful observer not acquainted with this local ritual, the one-day dominance of birds over Lady's Meadow is in fact a continued celebration of people's capacity to delegate power.