Old Notebook

The old notebook, begun in May last year, is full, and I have ordered more (10 x A4 exercise books, plain, blue covers) which apparently someone tried to deliver today. Total mystery since I was here and had gone upstairs for maybe one minute, came down to find an email alerting me to a failed delivery attempt. What a strange world we live in. The door was open as it was (finally) a warm day, so was it not obvious I was here? A second attempt will be made tomorrow.

Meanwhile this from last September

I try to gather here the pieces
that can be assembled
into one of those moments of clarity,
of a certain rightness - a poem.
Like the starlings assembling
in the elder bush, ten or fifteen at a time,
noisy, greedy, reaching for dark berries
with their hard beaks, swaying
as their own weight
bends the supple branches,
beginning to open the oily fans of their wings
for balance, then suddenly,
at the approach of a car,
all lifting messily off and flying away,
returning seconds later
to continue the difficult feast.

Perhaps it's called Difficult Feast, what do you think?