The Potting Shed Birds.

I left the potting shed door open this afternoon, I was cutting some fresh flowers for Ceri. To my amazement I noticed that a parrot, an owl and two Easter chicklets had flown in. They sat, perched, preening themselves! Of course, I am thrilled that the local wild life is happy to take up residence within the rafters of the potting shed.
I have always wanted to keep birds.
But it wouldn't be fair on Tiger & Neon, our two cats, or the dead bird.
Oh, sunshine,
Your radiant tentacles are shimmering,
On the breasts of birds,
Not in full flight, but winging, behind the glass,
Of this searing light,
Jungle foliage shielding,
Am I not an animal hiding?
A furry limb.
A piercing eye of whim.
Am I not an orchid serene?
Abandoned, a jewel in a desert of green.

1 comment:


Definitely, the sign of a great artist: to fabricate something into reality.