a bird in the hand

A bird lies dead on the pavement. It seems all wings, a hint of head. Wings that are spread wide but with no flight in them; they rest on asphalt not on air. Those lightweight honeycomb bones to no advantage now on the ground. Perhaps the wind, a sharp breeze, may lift the little body a last time.


Earlier I held a blue titmouse in my hand; I opened the window, slid my arm out and opened my hand. It stood there a little time, then flew to the big apple tree.

ordinary and not

I have seen so few swifts - hope to see more in the city...but a lack. Then I cross the Taf and see perhaps a hundred or more over the river, both ways, high, low...a couple come low over my head - I hear them but the traffic drowns most of their sound. Also ducks, gulls and a cormorant.

This morning a breakfast that I really enjoyed - oat millet flakes, cashews, sunflower seeds and blueberries with soya & oatly milk cocktail. Not sure why it was so good...but it was. Concentrate on small things. And just watching the world.