Two Chickens
25th May 2026
At the very end
of a crowded cul de sac
you find a small house.
Not made to be seen.
Not made to be praised.
Just held in place
among other lives moving too quickly to notice it.
The rooms are modest.
The boundaries honest.
The backyard barely enough
for a future still deciding its direction.
In the evenings,
you sit outside alone
and something in you softens
without asking why.
Not happiness.
Not sadness.
Something more like returning.
And always, beneath thought,
the same simple pull.
Two chickens.
Not decoration.
Not escape.
But a living reminder
that life is not only endurance
but relationship.
Something that comes back to you.
You remember, without naming it,
a time when the world felt closer.
When small lives existed near you
and that nearness was enough to hold meaning.
Back then, belonging was received, not built.
Now you have a house that is yours.
A life that holds.
And still, something in you knows completion is not the same as connection.
Peace, you are learning,
is participation in life
that answers you in return.
Two chickens are not small to you.
They are precise.
A future where something living
recognises your place in its world
and you recognise theirs.
Not ownership.
Not comfort.
But mutual presence.
One day,
You will have two chickens.