I have to interrupt the chickens by making my own sound: fingers tapping out my inner state on a small keyboard.
The chickens make a lot of sense as they carry on converstations and follow social rules,
it seems.
I watch them from the kitchen window as they share with some doves but not with others.
Why?
Better than vision is to listen to them speak to one another on the patio where they gathered
to get out of the rain.
Tonight they will all sit close together in their little house on the upper level: the loft.
The door will be closed against intruders
and they will sit as close to one another as they can.
asingingtree 