The house is humble, plain. Pale beige bricks and a single white garage door ensure that the place could be easily overlooked. There is no garden, no trees and not a single flower or potted anything. A square of patchy grass sits in front of the single entrance door and lone window – and it is regularly covered by birds.
Mixed species pecking found treasure on the grassy oasis. The block is steep so they have a broad view and a protected hill to enjoy the plunder. I see them regularly but am yet to witness the throwing of seed which attracts this wonder of white cockatoos, sunbirds, finches, warblers and wagtails. The visitors are ever changing and the mixing is often surprising yet there is a consistency to their presence. Some species have scouts posted on the roof of the neighboring house.
Just once I saw the single occupant of the house. It would be easy to describe her as frail, birdlike with fine bones pushing against crinkled paper thin skin. She is skeletal, tiny and walked very slowly using a frame within the garage area on this occasion. I guessed the car was long gone. I’ve never seen a visitor or a grocery delivery but it must happen. If there are lights on in the evening it may be at the rear of the home as none are visible from the street. I imagine a single recliner protected by a knitted blanket, the chair aimed in close range of a lonely television.
Though the birds come and they fed happily, easily. The window that overlooks this incredible activity has blinds which appear tightly closed, always. When I pass I want them to be open. I want to notice a gentle lady in a comfortable chair enjoying the spectacle that her seeds deliver. I want the birds to be her friend, her comfort.