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.