I. A rich brown brook meets a sea of green, and all shades of the summer mingle into one—emerald, fir, sage, turmeric, cream—like an overwhelming classical overture in transition. Abridged. The abundance of it takes me by surprise each morning, as if all I knew were the bare bodies of silver birch trees, peeling maroon towards the light; winter’s meekness and subtlety. The mass of foliage keeps me hidden from the view of pedestrians: summer’s blanket of care, mothering me. She knows I want to remain surreptitious, creaturely. It’s a different kind of embrace. The leaves are clutching at the sun, constantly moving, and yet all I see are endless textures of an impressionist movement, appearing vaguely alive, fixed in time through rain-drenched glass. Within one window pane, a bright poppy-red puncture emerges. A ladybird caught in a wood spider’s web; her legs suspended, her pride-worthy spotted exoskeleton entrapped, belly exposed.
II. The yellow wagtail breaks across the river’s canvas. His flight is urgent, but his tail signals joviality. He is always alone. Tail tapping at the river’s edge. The river’s flow is cacophonous; playing on my anxious and scattered thoughts. The constant babbling reminds me I am insecure and unsafe in my body. Sometimes, the river is interrupted by the qua qua qua of Mandarin couples. The males so ostentatious in their plumage: a jewellery box against a dull and muddy river bed. The females are obstinate in their disinterest—the males fail to persuade them into action. All ducks start circling the river’s breaking mouth once seed comes flying through the air, swimming in unison. The kingfisher’s blue and orange jacket races; in conflict with the lighthouse pace of all the other birds. Across the whole span of the window pane, a slate telegraph cord connects one home to mine, and the wood pigeon grasps it for safety. Its brutality against the softness of greens reminds me of the first images when New York City was built. Land before an urban skyline: giant beams of steel infecting an untouched sky, and one man atop the first skyscraper, peering down at the human life below.Â
Gorgeous writing. The "lighthouse pace" of the circling birds is such a stirring image.
Have you ever read The Peregrine by J.A. Baker? I was reminded of it a little as I read this. His observations of nature have haunted me ever since reading it.