There’s a blackbird on the wooden fence. It looks left, then right, stretches up and its yellow beak plucks an orange berry from the pyracantha. It looks left, then right, another berry, and one more. It flies off. My caravan at Birch Path 41 has been my home since March. The pyracantha, planted eight years ago, reaches into the garden behind and up into … Continue reading ‘Blackbird’ by Fokkina McDonnell