I no longer hear the footsteps
of a stranger from up the street
out for a morning weekend walk
with a growing little gleeful dog;
her footsteps replaced by
the continuous fury of a thirsty visitor
with wings announcing every arrival,
each one to sample a sweet blend.
How it hovers nearby, a magical buzz
insulted by the annoying saw of a neighbour
–too bad Sunday is just another day!
In between the clouds now gathering
the magic almost brought to an end
other than a particular, rapid scene:
somehow being in the right place again
the trick becomes not hearing the noise
and to follow a feather in the sun,
a feather out on the first cool breeze
brought about by a tiny preening beak.
