The crow whom I call Mr Crow with his lunch in The Grove.As I attend to the pleasant task of constructing wigwams from bamboo poles for beans to climb over, I listen to the pleasant and satisfying sound of water scattered by the nozzle of a hose. I have fixed the hose into the handle of a spade which is angled to spray water over the potatoes. For the moment I can think of no better company, except perhaps that of a blackbird which seems to be as pleased with the hose as I am.
The noise of the hydraulic devices which lift and empty wheelie bins into the rubbish collecting vehicle would tell me if I did not already know it, that it is Tuesday. It is a mixture of an anguished cry and a baritone bellow. Perhaps the sort of noise that might emerge from something huge and prehistoric. Would a dinosaur, I wonder, confronted by one of these machines, want to mate with it?
3 comments:
Love Mr. Crow.
i am reminded of steve bell's "if" cartoon, possibly during the falklands war, when a whale fell passionately and violently in love with a nuclear submarine
cc I always imagine that he owns The Grove. Meanwhile he imagines that he does.
tristan I can believe that in reality whales must often fall in love with nuclear submarine.
Post a Comment