I named him Balwin
Because it means ‘bold friend’
He’s much bolder than I
But nowhere near as bald.
Hopping into her potting shed
Without asking permission
Stealing treats
Asking for favours
Fistfuls of fat
Atrophied meals
Swell his crop
Between badges of grey
Not normally noted on a black-breasted bird.
That’s how we know it is him
It’s his i.d.
That’s me
Says he
Under our apple tree
Near to her knee.
Whistle if you want me
He trills
Just call out my name
And I’ll come fluffing
To see you again.
Winter, spring, summer or fall
All you have to do is call
And I’ll swoop there, yes I will
‘Cause you pay my bill.
(With due acknowledgement to Carole Kingfisher)
Clawed coda
What colour shall we call bold?
Fools’ gold
Or naive green
Or is it the colour of wanting to be seen?
Piebald, like a die
Worth the risk to risk your worth
Someone or nothing
Death or glory
Show some cheek to fill the jowl
Stretch the neck for a bigger peck.
Or is it really no choice at all?
Mother nature makes the call
Setting your type to bold
Seldom the colour of those who grow old.
The unspoken garden had a cool and wet spring (apart from a brief heatwave) until mid June, but now all is lush. The veg are on their way, there’s a ton of apples on the tree, and the roses are perky and plentiful. Foxgloves have elevated their floral staircases, some to such heights that they had to arch over.
The biggest change this year, however, is architectural. The garage has gone, replaced by something smaller but much more substantial. This will be the future hostel for fostered hedgehogs.
There’s been a general downsizing. We demolished a large wooden shed and replaced it with a smaller version, repurposing some of the fabric of the former to make shelving in the latter. Thus the garden has gained more growing space, which adds instant satisfaction by anticipation..
We have modified our feeding regime in keeping with RSPB advice this spring. We have removed some feeders. No more nuts until autumn.
Have you ever wondered why we call that particular species ‘blackbird’ when so many birds are black? The answer is surprisingly simple. Our ancestors did not classify rooks, ravens, crows and jackdaws as birds. They were ‘fowl’. For its size, the blackbird is the only black bird. Unless of course it is female; in which case she will be brown.
For several years we were visited by a blackbird that was half white. The secret gardener christened him ‘Blanco’. We know it is a ‘he’ because of the yellow beak.
Not all blackbirds are black. At least half of them are brown, as are the majority of ‘white’ people.
Very few people are actually white; and never supremely so.
uneasywords 