The place to be

A stroll on the beach is accompanied incongruously by pounding europop and the gentle swishing sounds of the sea. Funny how the different sounds take precedence depending on the way you are facing. We leave behind the visiting funfair and walk into the rapidly cooling evening air. The beach is populated with small groups of evening fishermen and families taking their dogs for a last walk like us. Luckily Rosy doesn’t spot the tempting mackerel which sits, trophy-like, beside the first angler that we pass. We laugh and agree that it wouldn’t have been around to admire for very long – hungry spaniels are not fussy what food they snaffle!
We come back to a supper of cheese and biscuits and some bottles of beer; I feel relaxed and happy yet also a bit sad that my visitors leave tomorrow. I will miss them.

A Darby eye view

Here I am sitting on a fence post; Joan, my mate, sits further along just above the fat ball. She looks a bit like one herself, so comfortably ready to roost. Our cook stands in the kitchen watching us while her own mate roots around in the bushes just below me. Occasionally he emerges triumphantly holding some juicy morsel aloft then throws it into the green bag.
Today we have other company in the garden – both of the un-feathered, two-legged variety. Are both preparing to fly? One is on the flat roof the other up a ladder which wobbles worryingly from side to side. Both have a plumage that is splattered like that busy square in Newport where we meet up with our fellow pigeons and have fun dive-bombing those humans below. Eventually they grumble and leave and we home in. Dinner!
Darby or Joan Pigeon

Trolley Rage

It seems like the entire population of the Isle of Wight have decided to travel to Ryde this Good Friday. There is waiting room only for those wishing to actually get out of their cars and join the Spaghetti Junction for shopping trolleys that has taken over the aisles inside the supermarket.
It makes me wonder at the online shoppers. Did they abandon all attempts to place their Friday delivery when faced with the insurmountable internet traffic of this Wednesday last? Surely the virtual gridlock can’t have been as bad as the real thing here and now!

A Bird in the Bush…or Not

In the bush next to the truncated ash, there sits a little blackbird. I stop and look at it. It stops (it wasn’t really doing anything) and looks back. Dog resolutely gazes straight ahead (sharp orange pecking beak on that thing in the tree!).

Is it a baby? I step a little closer.

Has it hurt its wing? One side appears a little askew now I can see it better.

Another dog walker is heading down the lane towards us.

I step a little closer and peer into the bush. The bird flies off and I am left staring into a bare bit of scrubby hedgerow with my dog pointing the other way.

Now level with us, the other person looks at me quizzically.

“I thought it couldn’t fly.” I offer by way of an excuse.

The woman carries on without response but, almost imperceptibly, quickens her step.

A Worldwide Web

A net of gossamer silk

to contain our stones

and reach across

the vast distance of time

and space so

that in the blink of an eye

we can read each other’s stones

and hold them in our hearts,

in our minds eye

and treasure them

as though they were made

of the most precious thing –

which

indeed

they

are.

Discordant Strains and Bicycle Chains

A beautiful violin solo incongruously reminds me of when my eldest took up the instrument at school. She wasn’t awfully good at it. In fact awful sums it up but her enthusiastic practising was perfect for annoying the ‘Dragon Lady’ who used to live upstairs. Intolerance personified, she would bang on the window that overlooked our garden and swear angrily at my seven-year-old blithely riding her bike up the pathway of our own land…fair payback I thought!

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