Sunday, May 01, 2005
It is May day, and mad dogs and Englishmen dance around poles with ribbons - or something like that, while I am happy in my house of words here, listening to the evening song of the caller bird. I call them the caller birds because at a certain time of the evening, just before the last rays of the sunset disappear in a kiss behind the hills, this one bird clings to the highest bough and seems to call the others home. I imagine always that he calls the younger birds, who tarry in groups, flirting with female birds of similar age, and showing their flight prowess like daredevil pilots in a blue sky of chasing wind and breeze and even great dips and loops. Then the caller bird is heard, and they head for home at a sauntering pace (if one can imagine a bird sauntering?) but once out of sight of the female birds, they race with hearts beating fast, to irate parents waiting in their nests. As one lands, mother bird cuffs him with her wing and chastises him for being late!
Sounds familiar ...
Anyway, it has been my usual day of this'n that, with its sprinkling of gems, such as my nephew's great smile when he received pocket money from Grandma for mowing her lawn, or the hour I have spent reading and re-reading some of the greatest writings I have ever known, and proud to know the author, which is one of my treasures in this life. These tiny moments of pleasure are tucked away in my heart's pocket for all time. Villagers settle down for the night under the slate gray roofs of cottages huddling together in tiny streets, or leaning against each other for support. The young hopeful hearts plan repair, and a nip and tuck vision of their castle when they have the money. Until then they will make do with a lick of paint, and hope that the debt they chase with the bank manager next week will be given to them. Sigh....something wrong that we all have to 'pay' so dearly for a descent dwelling.. I always find it more than odd that we are expected to buy a dwelling. Maybe we ought not get into human rights issues here, or perhaps it is self evident to those who follow my thinking...
Merlin's grey cloak has appeared, and he draws it swiftly now across the sky. There is a distant sound of thunder, which means rain will come soon. Perhaps he will favour us with his starry cloak later when the dragon has fallen back to his sleep, and I will search again for Cassiopea in the skies that the ancient ones gazed upon so long ago ...
