A cottage on the farm.
A wheelbarrow cradling herbs. Footsteps all sizes pressing the grass, trampling the garden. A tall cage housing a beautiful, white cockatoo.
Where’s dad, nan would call, followed by an echo of voices – much like a round robin – with cocky too. Where’s dad, where’s dad and a sharp screech.
He’s in the loo, someone would call, it too would echo across the foot of the valley.
Dad passed away.
The wheelbarrow in the yard, cradling herbs. Footsteps of smaller sizes trampling the garden.
Where’s dad? Cocky asks.
The footsteps quieten.
He’s in the loo, nan calls.