Permanent Address

A Barred Plymouth Rock rooster in a worn olive waxed cotton field jacket over a cream henley, leaning against the railing of a weathered wooden farmhouse porch with a ceramic coffee mug beside him, overcast dawn sky and rolling meadow with fence posts in soft bokeh behind

Southerly, the Fence Post

They departed at first light, the way they always do — without luggage, without explanation, without so much as a forwarding address. He watched until the last formation dissolved into the overcast, then returned to his coffee with the quiet certainty of a man whose coordinates have never required updating.

9 May 2026