As Sunday becomes sundown, day sliding into dusk, abnormally hot and lacking the usual breeze, an untutored urge opens. Here amidst ripening shadows, the unexpected wealth. A small white feather floating down comes to rest with companion leaves. It all tumbles in over itself.

Equally, on an earlier trip to the compost, suddenly coming up next to squirrel round the huge trunk of our maple tree. Just steps away. But we know each other so there is no startled backing off. Rather, a slow eyed greeting. For some moments we converse.

Currents of the day passing in no particular order.

Stillness of air, the calm slowly reddening sky. A flicker of recollections out of innumerable past days that in their time thrashed for thrills like sex that bring momentary peace.

But here this peace is of an overall that tolerates ripples and is undisturbed. It slips under the horizon, followed by this scribbling pen which, was it useless? Was squirrel, or Lady Hummingbird floating by on helicopter wings dodging down to this chair? I am reminded of an enormously humorous device:

The box had a lever on top. Pull it. A hand emerges, pulls the lever back, returns to the box, pulling the trap door down behind itself.

The red glow has disappeared beneath the horizon. A final dove remains in the feeder.

I think we understand each other.