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A Christmas Post

A Christmas Post

It’s 10 o’clock in the morning. Still dark, gloomy, and wet; very wet. Well it is where we live anyway. And looks set to stay that way. Even the birds are mostly silent. Yet ...

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September Rains

My Calendar of Haiku - September

It’s around 9 o’clock in the evening - already dark. A brief respite from the rain; the full moon (almost) playing ‘peek-a-boo’, through the clouds. The street light flickers - on - off - on. Our garden Robin sings from a hazel in the hedge. Just for a moment ...

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The Magic of Birdsong

Magic: Mistle Thrush

The Magic of Birdsong: A fine fresh morning - the sun streaming through the bedroom window - slightly open, the red and white gingham curtains moving gently in the morning air - dust motes caught for a moment - faerie dust, shining like tiny golden stars; the incessant chatter of House Sparrow and the garbled chuckling, whistling and mimicry of Starling from the cottage eaves and chimney pots; Green Woodpecker laughing from the nearby Ash; And Cuckoo calling from the copse across the fields - a Messiaen symphony. The scent of early spring - apple blossom and garden flowers in the warming sun. A heady romance. A childhood memory as real now as it was then - For this moment at least I am transported - there in the trees and fields around - what is that if not magic ... the magic of birdsong.

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