On Hedgerow Drive

I wonder if the birds came today.
Filled their bath last night after work
and the feeder by the kitchen window
early this morning.
I tend not to open the garage doors
because it startles them.
Though they leave gifts of color
on my car when it’s left in the driveway.
The spring will come soon
and I’ll wake them on weekdays—
stretching, chest forward, arms back,
like the birds in the front garden.
While I have the luxury to shower or bathe,
they rely on me for fresh water.
They test the water with their toes
as clichéd cartoon humans do.
I’m sure the birds were here today,
although I didn’t find them there
by the blue and purple slate walkway
or anywhere around this place
that is not theirs nor quite my own.
In thirty years time,
the bank tells me this will all be mine.
But I’d rather have no responsibility
and come and go on a summer breeze
with the knowledge
that I can always stop down
and test the water.