In Praise of The Breeze

The single feeder sways from its anchor on the basketball net.
Almost empty from the frequent visitings of small birds of
Mottled brown and iridescent jet, beaks chirp and speak words
That none but those birds can speak.
Little greetings and great exclamations by nearby roosting exaltations.
The little feeder sways with gentle perching creatures, pecking inefficiently,
The seed falling to the ground.
Inefficient yet most likely safer.
Although, the real risk is gone now that the cat is dead.
I miss him and yet the garden has replaced his presence with smaller life.
The grass is rife with the workings of starlings.
The unbalance is beautiful and plentiful.
The single feeder sways once more and becomes restful.