Tuesday, July 21, 2015

The Whirligig Feather, the Bridge and the Butterfly

A tortoiseshell butterfly lay flattened on the paving stones on the bridge, too beautiful to stand on and too beautiful to be left for anyone else to stand on.
I picked it up and tested the wind; it was blowing west to east, so I crossed the road and sailed it into the evening breeze. It fell, but on its way down its wings flapped rapidly with one last burst of freedom before it landed, spreadeagled in the river and headed towards the coast.

The jackdaws were busy this morning. Dad was digging things out of the drain to feed to Teenager, and then marching him across the gravel to show him how to find ants hidden between the stones. Later, they repaired to their nest in the chimney pot and tidied up. They flung a feather out on to the roof tiles, where it rested for a while before sliding off and being picked up by a teasing breeze. It took off into the morning air, upright and spinning: it rose, it sank, flashing grey and white as  different sides showed themselves to us in rapid succession. Finally, it disappeared from sight.

The wind is exciting, and so is finding oneself unexpectedly connected to the internet.
Quick! Quick!
Get some proper stuff done before the signal gets slurped back by its rightful owner!


Anonymous said...

The diary of a 'Rough Sleeper'

Anonymous said...

supposing that had been your Butterfly how would you feel!