two wings
of the same Bird
Hello. This post is about Death & Birds.
Our garden has recently become the chosen venue for local Magpie conventions. Frequently, of a morning, a group of about fifteen Magpies will gather in the centre of the lawn. They’ll chat and play, while seeming to enjoy the catering offered by us, their dutiful hosts. Then, like clockwork, the three Crows who call our garden home will simultaneously swoop at the Magpie assembly, who quickly scatter up and out like a monochrome-firework, coming to perch in various tall trees.
From there, they look down upon their adversaries and telepathically plot their return. One by one, the tribe of Magpies land, peripherally at first before edging towards a daring proximity to the Crows—each of whom holds their ground, just as the roots of the Oaks hold theirs. Typically, when the tension becomes too much, the patriarch of the Crows will caw for reinforcements and the convention will come to a close.