An English In Kentucky


















Friday June 20th 2014  Tim Candler


    I have to say that the Close Mockingbird is no longer with us.  I'd like to think it was old age that took him. I'd like to think he sang one last song from his Privet, then died peacefully.  His remains scattered now across the ground he knew so well, and maybe bits of him are over there in Central Time, carried there by something gentle, I hope.  I know for certain that he did have children, and was absolutely  horrible to them when time came for them to build their own empires. And I do know that as he aged he became cantankerous and stubborn, and I think probably he was getting a little short sighted when it came to recognizing girl Mockingbirds.

    I guess surviving the cold of last winter was his final challenge. But however much that cold might have addled his thoughts, he did feel the warmth of a blue sky on his feathers, he did see the full flower of Spring, he enjoyed the blossom in his Cherry Tree, he caught the scent of Honeysuckle,  he had his chance to give Yellow Chat something to talk about before the curtains closed upon him.  I'd say he was about eight years old, which is middle age for a Mockingbird. The front Porch is kind of empty without him and there are Downy Woodpecker in his two Maple Trees, but even though I learnt so much from him, admired him greatly, found peace in his company, I don't have the heart to chase them off.


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