June 16

It is morning. Sky is bright blue and sunlight. Air is gentle breeze and birdsong. I walk into it thinking of hope. When I stepped outside the very first song I heard was Robin’s. I put my phone down, turned the app on and visited the potted wild. Last night’s added dirt is gone. The top of a bulb I had covered just the day before peers through what’s left of the dirt. To be honest, I found out it was compost bark and not soil and so it was never going to be enough. Still, my co-gardeners have already displaced it. Where do they leave unwanted dirt?

At the café, the water bowl is empty and not where I left it. I put it on the tray, rinse it, and fill it with fresh water though I can’t help but picture it travelling through pipes that may or may not be rusted and water companies dumping waste into waterways. I am hoping that this water is better than no water. I fill the food bowl and mini café with seeds and seeds and seeds and nuts and nuts. I leave nuts in the basket for those who would climb or fly there to reach them.

The breeze feels delightful. It tugs my clothes, rustles leaves, carries bird song from here to there. There are honks, chirps, clacks, croaks and there beneath it all is a soft, far off cock-o-doodle-doo! I do not know if this is the same rooster or a new one. Still, it’s good to hear Rooster’s morning crow. Above a plane roars. It is the first early morning plane I have noticed in a while. It rumbles across the sky as if it is in no particular rush. Beneath the rumbling, there is a clackety, clackety song that I do not know. I gather my things to go inside so the café can open. I check my phone before I’m even in the door. It is dead. I’m not worried. I will hear this bird’s song another day or another time. I step into the house thinking of hope.