morning, noon & night

The hens are friends who crowd around the door of the roost to greet me at the first sound of my footsteps each morning.  They are genial neighbors who rise from their porches in welcome when I drop by for a visit in the middle of the day.

But in the evening, when I saunter benevolently down to latch the roost door, ensuring their safe passage through the night, they cast about with nervous glances, as if expecting that I will ask to see their green cards.

Lousy ingrates!  Can they not know that I am literally saving their lives, as I did the night before, and all the nights before that?

Apparently not tonight, and probably not tomorrow night either.  I latch the door and cheerfully bid them good evening, then latch the gate & stroll reflectively back to the house.

We yearn for that which we cannot obtain.  Tomorrow evening, the fading light will catch my eye, turning my thoughts to chickens, and I will, once again, saunter hopefully down the gravel path.

Coo, coo, ca choo.