An English In Kentucky


















Saturday June 23rd 2012    Tim Candler

      Mockingbirds here have developed an aspect that I would like to describe as reflecting the elderly political figure. That bad tempered, know it all with a walking stick. It is a sort of ‘get off my lawn' attitude.  And at this years conference of Mocking Birds, which cannot happen soon enough for me, I do hope they have as a guest speaker, someone familiar with the world beyond.  Our Mockingbirds have become insular I believe, their horizon so narrow they have forgotten the arias and movement of sound, and their little dances, that once they were proud of.  And at the conference of course, it's their time to molt.  Which is a humbling experience, because you're not fooling anyone when you are in the process of replacing your feathers.

      If I was asked, I would recommend they invite a Yellow Chat, who could still be here at the end of September.  An even tempered and elegant creature who has this butterfly flight when he is at his most amorous.  This year he is the earliest to greet the dawn, and the last to say good night to daylight, and the only with feathers who breached the greed cage around Raspberry.  His song and his various voices, all of which I am certain he is very proud of,  remind me of the tape dispenser at work.  "Chit" when you pull at the roll, "Chat" when you tear off a length, and a whole lot of confusion in between.  But I reckon he has stories to tell, raise the bar a little in the community of comrades


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