Birds gather at the feeder this morning.
The neighbor’s goldfish has died.
Autumn air blows crisp and cool,
and the laundry still needs doing.

Baked apples would suit the day.
Caterpillars are woolly this year.
There’s a detour just down the street,
and my friend isn’t feeling so well.

The book I read carries me away
beyond these ordinary hours.
I lift my eyes from the page,
and birds are still at the feeder.

For Ragtag Daily Prompt: Feeder