Birds.   Leave a comment

Just noticed an attractive black and white bird with a red tail doing woodpeckery things to a tree outside my window. Why is it that a return to clean-living is often marked by an awareness of the feathered-species, as though in keeping with their mythic status of messengers and heralds? It’s something to do with the quiet and stillness within that chimes with that without, so that a quick movement or chirp of song might jar and thus reawaken a humility born of wonder and compassion. One is in and of the moment, so that one might say: “Fuck, look, a little bird…” I saw this documetary on an addiction treatment centre once, and there was this beautiful scene where this boozehound woman seems profoundly moved by hearing the dawn chorus, and I’ve always associated birds with a kind of zen mindfulness and peace ever since. I suspect few ornithologists are raging pissheads, for instance. It stands to reason.

Which reminds me, been a bit crap with the whole Grist idea of ripping off some kind of American Tapes-style avalanche of material seeing as how I’ve only done one cassette that no-one bought, but as launches go it wasn’t the rollingest of balls. But yeah, one of the reasons for my inaction has been the stumbling block of writing the release notes to The Path Of Least Resistance, and that is partly because I am very reluctant to write a piece about the circumstances that those sessions were produced in, being that they were a few weeks of acute misery perhaps unparalleled in my increasingly long life. Anyway the bird connection is that while I was having to accept with awful glacial slowness that I was splitting up with mine, I had to bear witness, with some ongoing interest from my son, to a collared dove build a nest on a very flimsy branch about 3 feet from our window. The dove laid two eggs and then had to endure day after day of overcast, cold and very windy June weather in which she seemed to scarcely rest at all, being obliged at all times to hang onto the nest with her small talons in the frequent but irregular gusts of wind that buffeted what looked to be an increasingly foolhardy construction in every direction. Amazingly one egg did hatch, and it was at least a further week that the parent struggled to safeguard the fragile young in impossible conditions to no avail, as one still day we found the nest completely empty. Heartbreakingly, my son relayed the information to his absent mother by saying “they flew away.”


Posted January 5, 2010 by peteum2013 in Uncategorized

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