Letter to a departed friend
My dear friend I hung out the washing earlier and thought of you, remembered that time I visited. You were down the back at the line with a mountain of clothes and I helped you peg them. You'd started to look weary. I let the chooks out today. Only two of them left now. They still make a mess of the garden. It’s amazing how much earth they move in a day. So much for my new mulch and all the raking I did last week. Still, I couldn’t leave them locked up on such a lovely day. There’s something relaxing about having them nearby, watching them scratch, scratch, scratch, step back then peck something delectable from the ground. Days like this are exquisite: warm enough to sit out on the deck, not too hot, the sounds of the birds and the water feature in the background, and still January – before the weight of another year of working weeks settles on my shoulders. You’d never guess what I saw, just now. A blackbird came down to the birdbath under the orange tree. I love the way