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Feb. 7th, 2008 01:55 pmIt's an unexpectedly sunlit day. With a jacket on, you might think it was Summer, were it not for the bare trees and the quality of sunlight that makes the willow-twigs luminous.
The hedgerows are crowded with song and movement: bunches of argumentative house sparrows; the thin, high song and bold red face of the goldfinches; the gambols and chatter of blue tits; great tits calling "Teacher, Teacher!"; the glories of blackbirds and robins.
One robin has found a singing place at the top of a tree near a pair of modern office buildings which reflect his song and cause it to ring out across the crowded car park. That's very nearly a parable about people who are tucked up in their air conditioning with the windows closed, but I prefer him as just a robin.
The hedgerows are crowded with song and movement: bunches of argumentative house sparrows; the thin, high song and bold red face of the goldfinches; the gambols and chatter of blue tits; great tits calling "Teacher, Teacher!"; the glories of blackbirds and robins.
One robin has found a singing place at the top of a tree near a pair of modern office buildings which reflect his song and cause it to ring out across the crowded car park. That's very nearly a parable about people who are tucked up in their air conditioning with the windows closed, but I prefer him as just a robin.
