Outside, a rosella perched on the edge of the bird bath. Marie watched her daughter Irma light up when she saw the bird, and stumble, hands-out, towards it. Marie noticed there was another rosella there, a smaller one. Irma’s hair shone a bronze colour. She and the pair of birds coexisted outside in the shade of the afternoon. Marie looked up after every shirt she folded. There was something about seeing your darling when she didn’t know she was watched. She felt Irma close to her skin. The sun changed. Irma’s mouth moved against her cheek, speaking words into the flesh.

Afternoons turned quickly in the valley. The air wolfish, the pale lilac growing dark too soon. Irma lifted her head when her father spread out of the screen door and told her to come inside. Griffin had his arm around her shoulders as they came in together.