I carry a dry chair into the drenched garden. Elderberries dot the ground and raindrops dot the elder. A sudden shuffle of woodpigeon wings.
A squirrel dangles upside-down beside the bird feeder and lifts the tube to its snout. A wood pigeon flaps in for the spilled millet.
Overcast. I apologize to the flies still gathering where the dog poo had lain, missing their breakfast. A wood pigeon watches from the roof.
The labored wingbeats of a wood pigeon spooked by my turning of a page, two cabbage white butterflies swirling in its wake.