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EASY STREET

At the very cusp of morning I hear through my windows, now all open at night, a regular and eager leafy thrashing sound, it is the thrushes going hard at this year's compost section of garden where I throw all the wood ash, rakings, used-up shiitake logs, small prunings and garden leftovers, and where as a result it is always greener than anywhere else. The chickweed is already bigger than the thrushes, but nevertheless they barge right into that soft green jungle and toss the duff about looking for the riches there and frequently finding them. By the time the sun is fully up they are stuffed, and fly off to roost in the sun. Nice life if you can get it, I think as I dress for work in the city.