An English In Kentucky


















Thursday July 19th 2012    Tim Candler

   Those street corner tyrants, the Cedar Mockingbirds, have released two more of their kind into the world.  Always a chance that bad temperedness and growling skips a generation.  She still has no tail feathers, in flight she looks like a little Black Vulture and dangerous.  And He is getting old.  One single egg in their nest was not fertile, undamaged by the large feet and bustling around of growing chicks.  Of course She left it there, warned her children not to play with it, because She had a point to make.

     The other guy is clearly much younger and so much more charming.  He's up from the river, I guess, or somewhere down there where the Wahoo Tree grows. The Artist has heard him croak like a Green Frog.  He'll sing from the tall trees and leap, so the perfection of his wings and his feathers might catch the light and dazzle the afternoon with his brilliance.  Certainly impresses me.  She dreams sometimes, because I have seen her, then He comes barreling in.  His charge is like a red-eyed bull or a mental patient. Not remotely gallant, but sort of endearing..

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