Morning

Four of the giant sunflowers have sprouted
and I have left the chook gate open
by accident. The two aren’t connected. 

Leaving the gate open 
didn’t cause the seeds to sprout.
Just as dripping tea through the house

and down the stairs is also not
connected. I have left a cup ring
on the outside table. The rain

may wash it away, in time.
But not now. It is hot and will be.
The hens, of which there are three,

show their personalities.
Wobbly is yet to realise the gate
is open. The second hen 

squats in the nesting box,
morning routine in place.
The third sunbakes alongside 

the now available garage wall.
This early access to the sun is a privilege,
as is the old dust bath under the eaves.

My two soft-hearted cats
and the nearby sparrows
have seen my forgetfulness.

There is additional noise and
noticing. Things are different.
The sunflower seeds are known 

only to me. I watch the air caress 
the whirly-gig. Two of the ten
leaves slowly spin and the sparrows

fly in and out of the chook run,
feasting on grain intended for eggs.
The Ragdolls admire the audacity. 

____

Shelly Beamish