While sitting in the gazebo in Gill’s garden,
I saw a little bird in the tree.
But on closer inspection, it was simply a leaf.
All is not what it appears to be,
but one way or another,
real or imagined,
Gill was here,
The Gazebo leans.
Ivy creeps on the concrete base.
Crooked planks tilt.
Wild roses welcoming.
A tiny insect on the wooden desk.
Warm air, morning mist.
Rain-drop pearls on straggly grass.
Wild flowers scramble on Ruairi’s rest.
A white butterfly visits.
Bird chirrup In a tangle of thorns.
Blackberries still green.
to screech at full-tide.
The Gazebo tilting on the southerly side.