12 pigeons, 2 blue tits and an assembly of sparrows.
That is what accompanied me today as I half-watched Roger Moore and Richard Burton fight off hundreds of Simbas in the Wild Geese.
I can't imagine making 18 fairy cakes, 1 chicken pie and an 8 inch lemon cake alone. Before the raw goodies went ovenward I halted for a few moments and supped a cuppa, and, whilst enjoying the mid-morning brew, my eyes fell upon the flappers outside.
3 grey pigeons hustling for sunflower seeds on the bird table paid no attention to the earth bound sparrows who sprang and pinged from one crust to the next, their jaunty firework jig a joy.
Meanwhile on the far side of the garden, hanging from a foot of thick branch were two blue tits going about their survival most seriously. The birds clamped to the block of seeds poked their beaks through the wire mesh of the holder and, without manners or thought, jabbed and pricked their early earthly lunch.
A few more pigeons were cock-a-hoop under the Japanese Maple, their intense concentration on scooping up seeds of every description was a lesson in single mindedness to a slovenly sort like me.
By now my cup was drained and so I left the show, albeit reluctantly.
I always quieten down whilst gazing at the little bravehearts and have now, since entering my middle years, begun to wonder...
Can we love birds?
In fact, is it possible to have a real attachment to anything that is unattainable and flea bitten?
No comments:
Post a Comment