Chickens!

Last night we passed a house in Blackstone, opposite Precious Blood Cemetery. It's a house I pass every day, just down our street. I saw a dozen chickens of all styles in their small backyard garden. These are the folks who roto-till their side and back yards every spring in preparation for their big summer garden. I bet they can their own vegetables and make their own jams and jellies. But they've never had chickens before. The woman who lives there has a strong Eastern European accent. They have a big wooly black dog with a brown dot over each eye, and a cat that sits on the tin roof of what is now the chicken coop. In the winter I see the husband out plowing snow from all the neighborhood parking lots. In the summer I sometimes see the wife reading in the garden, sitting under the big beech tree beside the row of onions and leeks in her aluminum beach chair. One night walking home from the reservoir with Lily I could see right into their living room picture window. I saw, opposite the flickering TV, shelves full of books.