Haiku - from the bird table
Blackbird grabs bread chunk -
places it beneath her feet -
Gone! Cheeky sparrow.
--
flash of gold and green
a feathered whirling combat
over sunflower seeds
Blackbird grabs bread chunk -
Wrenching the flimsy recycled plastic lid from the compost bin, I emptied out the plastic tub of vegetable waste. It smelled of orange peel, banana skins and onions. A cloud of little black flies circled around the opening. The grass was soggy underfoot, small pools of water in the clay. I squelched back across the lawn with the empty tub. In the front border, the bulbs were showing some two or three inches of foliage above the soil. The red plastic sunflower seed birdfeeder had fallen down again, rocked off its peg by the exuberance of the greenfinches. I picked it up and hooked the wire back over the peg, tightening it to prevent a recurrence. The paving stones were strewn with sunflower seed casings. I made a mental note to sweep them up and put them in the compost - one day.
All around me are lines, converging. Floor tiles; paving stones; railings; the brickwork design of the protective grid pulled down around the coffee bar; the girders supporting the glass roof.
A boy stands, the light glinting