Yes Mrs Magpie is living up to her reputation as a thief. I keep finding paperwork strewn across the lawn, pens hanging in bushes and important documents shredded. She flew off with Rocket's squeaky ball the other day, having firstly enjoyed kicking it around the floor then deposited it in the planted up water butt.
Her beak has been put slightly out of joint by the arrival of the Crow twins.
Named Ronnie and Reggie Krow (I did toy with Tom and Penelope after the Cruise actors) they had been blown out of a nest and rescued by the wildlife hospital who handed them over to me. They are louder than a police siren.
When I went to collect them I was shown a young badger that someone had taken into the hospital. I recognised it at once as the very same badger that was hurrying along the highstreet in Tisbury late one evening and ran over my foot as I was about to get into the car. When it met a couple of little dogs it turned round and ran back - over my feet again and disappeared up the road. It hadn't been injured but someone later found it in their garden and should have left it but often people want to help when it's best to leave alone if the animal is not injured. Apparently Tisbury is synonymous with badgers as two of them whilst fighting had fallen into an open grave in the churchyard there and had to be rescued.
Helping any creature is rewarding but sometimes sad too as they don't all make it. One of the young birds I was looking after died the other day. I've seen many birds die before, they bow their head as if in prayer then make a last frantic struggle to stay alive or let go I don't know which then they spread their wings as if stretched out in flight and indeed they do fly away. Somewhere.
At the moment there are three other crows in the shade tunnel - none of which can fly yet but they hop around and I hope soon they'll heal and be off. Like Wendell Berry's poem the peace of wild things I like to sit in there when despair for the world grows in me and just find time to be still.
Here\s a picture of Pocket. As you can see he's not here as he has a very busy schedule. Lots of sleep. eating and patrolling around.
However this is Nancy. Nancy doesn't often appear on this blog as she is not opinionated like Pocket. She is looking like a draught excluder here and we may well use her as one when it gets cold again.
Pocket is fond of sitting very near Rocket especially when he's asleep which is most of the day.
Dreams enrich the monotony and routine of his daily life Pocket tells me.
He's not as busy as me. The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom. Ah William Blake, I say but he denies any knowledge of him.
Pocket sometimes stands over me when I'm writing. He has lots of helpful tips. Show don't tell he barks at me. Don't tell me the moon is shining, Show me the glint of light on broken glass. Anton Chekov said that I say. I didn't realise you'd studied Chekov. Never heard of him he says.
I've put this poem up before but it's one of my favourites.
A field in Ludlow
( byWJ Ibbott early 20th century.)
I'm Barter's now,
Last year for Gatehouse I
Nurtured a pretty crop of
vetch and rye -
When Barter's dead, some
New-named man will say
"All this is mine," and go
The deathward way,
Rye, vetch and man all
To the seasons yield,
While I lie low, the same
Old smiling field.
