Orpingtons

A pair of Orpingtons, one blue, the other black, with iridescent necks and fine, ashen fluff cackle through the dark, their damp calls close enough to chafe, a friction with no spark. They settle down to roost, two rests along a stave. Each curls into itself, comb tucked beneath a wing, as the days grow long enough to kindle in each a yolk, the smallest flame of spring.