Two yearling magpies in the bath
chortle free and easy, a crested
dove is asked to leave – given
the arse if you ask me but with no
obvious acrimony. These two have
grown up the yard from awkward
fledglings to striking birds just short
a season of their plumage.
The dogs pretend not to see, a
peace of mind prevails, not the
mindfulness of respect or gentility –
perhaps an idleness of the early
hour. The heat is gathering relentlessly
along the ridges, humidity seeps
into the valleys; why rail at the world
while it is still cool enough to sleep.
© I.D. Carswell 2007-02-11
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