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 birds duck their heads low to drink then tilt their beaks skywards to let the water slide down. One of the chooks sauntered over at the same time and I felt sure the blackbird would fly away. But what a marvelous sight: they drank together, ducking and lifting in tandem. Mind you, it was Fizzy – the gentlest natured of the six of them. I think you would have loved our chooks, even though you never had any of your own. Or did you have them as a child, I wonder? I would have supplied you with fresh eggs whenever you came to visit. You would have put them to good use, too. Your lighter than feathers sponge cake is melting in my mouth.
The blackbird is sunbaking. Why do they do that – hunker down onto the ground with their feathers fluffed out and their beaks wide open? The chooks do it, too. And their dust baths! – a sight to behold. I can hear you laughing, see the glint in your eyes. You would have had something mischievous to say about it. Could be a good, cheap alternative for kids with head lice when the parents send them back to school untreated.
I miss our January holiday days in the pool. The kids playing Marco Polo while we sat on the edge and chatted about mothers and what our Grad Dip colleagues might be up to. Salad rolls for lunch every time. Me admonishing you for introducing my kids to processed cheese. The pool is the thing I miss most about that house. Ironic the summer you developed the symptoms was the last in the pool for both of us. If you’d still been alive you could have come here and dangled your feet in the water feature with me.
The dog keeps running up inside the chook shed. She knows it’s off limits but there’s a dog on the other side of the back fence who barks periodically. The chooks don’t even stop pecking when the dog runs past. I’ve done well to train her not to chase them. She will round them up if I need her too, bless her. Hilda sometimes manages to flap over the little gate to the side of the house and creates havoc in the fernery. You’d have loved Milly – and she you. She’s such a gentle soul and so quick to learn. I’d be lost without her …
The chooks have migrated down to the little patch of fresh lawn I planted last month.
I’d better finish this and shoo them away.
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 birds duck their heads low to drink then tilt their beaks skywards to let the water slide down. One of the chooks sauntered over at the same time and I felt sure the blackbird would fly away. But what a marvelous sight: they drank together, ducking and lifting in tandem. Mind you, it was Fizzy – the gentlest natured of the six of them. I think you would have loved our chooks, even though you never had any of your own. Or did you have them as a child, I wonder? I would have supplied you with fresh eggs whenever you came to visit. You would have put them to good use, too. Your lighter than feathers sponge cake is melting in my mouth.
The blackbird is sunbaking. Why do they do that – hunker down onto the ground with their feathers fluffed out and their beaks wide open? The chooks do it, too. And their dust baths! – a sight to behold. I can hear you laughing, see the glint in your eyes. You would have had something mischievous to say about it. Could be a good, cheap alternative for kids with head lice when the parents send them back to school untreated.
I miss our January holiday days in the pool. The kids playing Marco Polo while we sat on the edge and chatted about mothers and what our Grad Dip colleagues might be up to. Salad rolls for lunch every time. Me admonishing you for introducing my kids to processed cheese. The pool is the thing I miss most about that house. Ironic the summer you developed the symptoms was the last in the pool for both of us. If you’d still been alive you could have come here and dangled your feet in the water feature with me.
The dog keeps running up inside the chook shed. She knows it’s off limits but there’s a dog on the other side of the back fence who barks periodically. The chooks don’t even stop pecking when the dog runs past. I’ve done well to train her not to chase them. She will round them up if I need her too, bless her. Hilda sometimes manages to flap over the little gate to the side of the house and creates havoc in the fernery. You’d have loved Milly – and she you. She’s such a gentle soul and so quick to learn. I’d be lost without her …
The chooks have migrated down to the little patch of fresh lawn I planted last month.
I’d better finish this and shoo them away.
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