#93: silence of the buzzard (13/Nov/18)

it flew from the oak, huge as it was, so much so I wondered how it could fly at all…. but fly it did and easily, smoothly, it was after all a bird, big for one for certain but one nonetheless as on outstretched wings the buzzard abandoned the tree as though it had just then popped into existence having not been before just that second so effective was its camouflage, its plumage blending almost seamlessly at any time of the year but particularly so among the sepias, russets and golds of autumn… it is still autumn, isn’t it?… the flip-flop season, one minute could be winter and the next could be just as easily late summer but no, no it’s most definitely, ‘ish, autumn as leaves even now after so many blustering storms continue to fall from the ever-thinning crowns of the canopies to litter lawns, path and streets, gutters, bus shelters, benches, tops of cars and anyone foolish to stand still long enough, with even the smaller bushes and shrubs now temporarily adorning these hand-me downs, sometimes ill-fitting and sometimes uncannily convincing you’d never know of their former preloved existence.. but that was a whole season ago, a season that left and took the warmth with it leaving the sun barely enthusiastic enough to lift itself off the horizon… for such an enormous wingspan the buzzard left the tree owl-like from where it perched silent, vigilant, patient, almost omniscient with barely a fuss nor even a sound…… if only, if only I had the simplicity of the buzzards life, hard though no doubt it is at times, still, there is envy………

© 2018 robert greig

the millipede (25/Sept/18)

a millipede walked across my carpet with more legs than a centipede and yet much smaller than… where was it going, where was it bound across this landscape featureless where not a pattern to be found or discerned… I’ll never know, you’ll never know… I picked it up, it wriggled in objection, I dropped it, it proceeded on its unknown quest, I picked it up again, it wriggled again perhaps more than the last wriggle, probably a bit miffed at this interruption… did it know I wasn’t a centipede?… centipedes have a taste for the taste of millipedes which I think is just an extreme jealous over-reaction at themselves having fewer legs, up to four times less in fact with millipedes having up to 400 (not 1000 as the name may allude, probably because whoever first named them looked and exclaimed, “what a f*** load of legs!” and was too much a scaredy-cat to count)… having managed to place it on my palm where it wriggled confusedly working out which way to take its many legs I opened a window and out said window sent it on its way, whatever way that turned out to be, the wriggle-way, obviously ……  … … …

© 2018 robert greig

slippery when wet (19/September/18)

sitting, waiting, edge of my pen for something to occur… inspiration?… yes, I’ve heard of it… inspiration everywhere but not a thought to think… or at least one that can be lassoed and corralled, tamed and named, hammered and tonged into submission, or perhaps preferably gently persuaded through dialogue and the appropriate diplomatic channels… it’s a
slippery
eel
as if there was any other kind of anguillidae…… once I had an eel that wrapped itself around my forearm, a freshwater eel, in such a way a snake might resembling a worryingly elaborate torc, all sick, slimy and yes, slippery except it wouldn’t slippery itself from my arm of it’s own volition… I of course did that cartoon-comical thing of shaking my arm like some demented helicopter and then attempted to peel it off, by unwinding it but if you’ve ever held a full-grown eel they are not only slippery but pretty much all muscle and when they contract, wow, do they contract and this one was contracting, and tightening… I looked it in the eye, and it looked at me back during this battle of attrition which as far as I could work out neither me nor the glorified bracelet was winning until I had a brainwave, I admit they come around very rarely but, as I was stood right next to a river from whence I had hooked and angled this armless foe now getting increasingly attached to my arm, I put my hand into the water submerging it and voila!… off it came and swam into its flowing, murky depths… now why didn’t I think of that sooner, after all this was in my days when I used to go fishing a lot and catch things like eels, look at them proudly and then always put them back as back then I didn’t eat fish, and incidentally still don’t and will never eat an eel now… I learnt a lot about fish and rivers and the nature of those waterscapes from doing that but I suppose most of all I discovered how much I liked the solitude, and this was the days before mobile phones…. bliss… you can never really fully understand or respect an eel until you’re up and close and personal with one.

© 2018 robert greig