A magpie befriended me a couple of weeks after Poppy died. Pie (my husband thinks this a better name than my original choice of Mags) is a teenager, a beautiful creature slowly shedding the grey feathers on his shoulders to reveal the mature white beneath. His is a clever mind, and I can almost see him thinking, watch the cogs of his thought processes turn. He is willing to place a huge amount of trust in me. I think he knew that I needed him to say hello when he did, and our relationship - based on me feeding him cat biscuits, one by one, encouraging him to come ever closer - is one of the great pleasures in my life. When his family move around the hill - a tiding of magpies, how lovely - I miss him, wonder when he'll return. Sure enough, just as I give up hope, I spy his curious, furtive run from the back fence to our back door, beak first, waddling elegantly to the sound of my movement. He sang to me yesterday, with gusto, and I felt my heart soar.
Tidings - what a perfect collective noun. Small things, as ever.
I love magpies.
Posted by: Ganga | February 15, 2019 at 04:49 PM
Oh here you are, blogging like it’s 2003! Don’t ever stop, whether it be about food, magpies, life or arting!
Yes, a blog is space to think, breath, a digital room of one’s own.
*Tiding*
Posted by: Sharon | February 22, 2019 at 06:25 PM
@ganga - me too!
@sharon - yep, blogging like it's 2003. i love you x
Posted by: lucinda | February 25, 2019 at 12:02 PM