Monday, 24 August 2009

Happiness is in the Ashes.

Like a small bird that fell from it's lofty home prematurely, we lay on the ground, dazed, cold and sparsely clothed. Bothered by bugs, lice and batted around by cats, we wrung survival from the domestic dishcloth life. Sustenance, a diet of fat earthy worms and crispy cold chip ends. Later, we were strong, and warmed our limbs in summer sun, nourished by sweet dandelion milk and spilled Stella our wings grew and eyes and sharp pecking beak. Comfort having never been a misfortune we grew hardy, perennial and lasting. Pairing off for comfort and warmth, a life partner to share the roost, feather the nest, feed the fledglings. Avoid Cuckoos. Shit on people and their motors, to soar high above it all, screeching and wheeling. Escape the cold snaps winter brings and fly for warmer climes, taking our turn at the front of the skein. All eggs in one nest we take our chances, it's all we know and all we could do.