tufted feathers stand
up on his downy young head
exuberant Jay
A Jay jumped out onto the grass verge as I was driving. He looked so long and awkward. A young one for sure, his legs lanky and thin, a little look of surprise and wonder in his face as he or she scooted around, possibly for a place to bury food for the winter. He had a punk crest on his head, where the wind had blown it up momentarily. It made me smile.
pic from RSPB website
The crow and the gift
a bed of twigs for the young
from small beginnings
I saw a Crow flying, carrying a twig, birds are building their nests.
Patchwork foal staggers
to the warmth of his mother
stitched from rags and socks
I was driving to the office in Stevenage, I remembered a couple of years ago I used to look forward to a certain stretch of road, this was at the time when my visits to that office were far more regular. Every morning I’d look out for the foal in the field by the side of the road, just past Hitchin. It was so gangly and fluffy. Like a toy. It used to stay close to its mother looking especially timid. As the weeks and months progressed, it got bigger, grew more confident, I’d see it playing sometimes, running along, throwing his head from side to side. Little snapshots of the foals life, watching it grow up, in those short seconds each day I was driving by. The memory made me smile.
There’s more ponies in that field now, and another foal, but I can’t be sure if it’s the same family group. It’s like my memory is that of a feeling or an emotion rather than any image or pictures in my mind. I can’t even exactly be sure what the foal looked like now.
