I cleaned out the bird bath this morning
at this little place we sometimes stay at
in the middle of the forrest
near Karridale.

I poured out the old water and leaves,
rinsed it a couple of times to get
rid of some green on the tiled surface,
then filled it up with rainwater
via the pot I used to cook pasta
for dinner last night.
The water comes out clear, 
with a slight rainbow sheen
from the residue oil.

I tried to fill the dish so the birds don’t have to lean 
too far.

I did all this, because I hadn’t seen any
birds using it since I got here, whereas in previous years 
it was like a busy village well.

I leave it, forget about it, use my phone, 
come back outside, and look up to find
chunyart the ring-necked parrot—
twenty eight to most—landing on the ground, then
flapping over to the bath.
He must have seen me, no more 
than a few metres away,
no more than ten minutes after I filled it.

He stands with his back to me on the lip 
and leans down, 
gathering water in the bottom part of his beak I guess.
He is all green, with yellow neck, a red splash on his head.
Then his mate is coming in too,
shooing him off. And then this one is mirroring 
the process.

I have a shower, and then look out again soon after to find
a little family of small grey birds with slightly green backs,
drinking or flying through it. One after another.
I’m inside so they probably can’t see me.
One flies off, then another,
then another.

Is it this simple?