Birds, birds, birds
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Did I say birds have the run of things here?
They do - little scurrying blackbirds, swallows nesting under the eves, sparrows pooping all over the deck - not to mention the large, plump kererū - that wood pigeon I would sometimes like to have in my pot. And old Gerty, this hen who always makes it out the coop somehow - but no others can. She is out next to me - in the morning sun even after I’ve put her away once already.
I don’t mind being in a wild aviary. It is company - constant amusement. Yesterday I watched two males sparrows fighting it it seemed to the death. Each grabbing each other’s necks with their beaks and tumbling around the deck - oblivious to anything else. I have never witnessed this in forty five years of life, and these the most common of birds - vying for their girls - at it because its spring and thats what they do - want to pass their particular seed down time to create - produce themselves again and again.
We humans are not so different - wanting to perpetuate pieces of ourselves through art, technological breakthroughs, anything where our essence might stand a fighting chance of carrying on against the vast tide of time. And then there is child bearing and rearing - one of our own favorite past times for doing this magic extensionism.
Ah, but here, now, the bird life is one constant orchestral piece - and I’ve got front row seats - jealous?