Silvereye

John Bartlett

I could spend my life watching Silvereye bathing, the plunge and the flight, the delight of light on droplets exploding.

Nearby branches trembling, they queue for landing like 747s at Heathrow but patient, not urgent, no timetable to meet, they preen, absorbing the slow hum of evening then flit into twilight leaving an imprint of stillness.