buzzardry, 6/August/17

the buzzard called out…. streel, streel…….. (that’s the sound a buzzard make… oh yes it is!) calling to me I’d like to think…….. they’re skilled at being heard and not seen calling as they do from way up high up in the high-up-there for which my depth perception has proved pretty damn essential otherwise I’d think they were teeny-tiny, the size of a speck although how big a speck may be is open to heated debate no doubt amongst speckologists…….. but when they land on my flat roof (buzzards, not speckologists) I’m and start clog-dancing…………. from way up in the high-up-there they see me with no problem at all but me, I have to scour every soddin’ inch of it following their streeling to spot a single one……. who’d have thought that in something so full of nothing, i.e. the high-up-there, it’d be so hard to find a something………… as for what they’re saying it’s probably, “so, now I’m up here in the high-up-here how the flip do I get down?”…. ….
… one can sound like four, veritable pinball wizards of sound, or should that be ‘wizzards‘?!………
… we screwed up evolution you know, by opting for earthbound over airborne…….. heavy, lumpen blumps we are who at best leap a foot or two towards the high-up-there only to singularly fall back onto the way-down-here… ho hum…. …. because of this evolutionary oops we had to invent flying machines with our I’m-so-clever brains and our happy-clapping hands………. the buzzard isn’t jealous of our I’m-so-clever brains nor our happy-clapping hands…. why?… because it can fly, ‘nuff said……

(ps…… buzzards don’t happy-clap)

© robert greig 2017

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