Sky Fishing

A flash of copper-coloured plumage winks at the corner of my eye. Entangled in an old badminton net hung loosely on the side of the rough plywood shed is a beautiful creature, caught like a fish in some sky fisherman’s net. It is a woodpecker, a northern red-shafted flicker. It thrashes, the brilliant salmon-tint under its brown-barred wings gleaming and hidden again as they beat desperately. Its tawny, red-cheeked head is caught in one small loop, and the black-spotted down on its cream-coloured breast is disarranged from the bird’s struggle, the claws and legs twisted through other strands. As I approach, it panics again, and its wings clatter and bounce against the wooden walls of the shed as it tries again to free itself. It cannot. I must. I grasp the terrified wings and pinion them against its soft body. It shrills a loud, keen note, a piercing question that it asks twice more, not understanding. I can feel the tiny, racing hammer of its heartbeat, pumping in fright as I hold this small, beautiful piece of sky.  With my pocket-knife, I sever the imprisoning strands, each small snick inching the bird closer to freedom. At last, the bird is free in my hand. But I still grasp it gently. Somehow, I cannot bring myself to let go. I pause one moment to let my hand memorize the feel of its body, the small, comforting warmth, the silky down of its breast, the rough legs bunched against my restraining hand. It looks at me now, asking the question with its bright black eyes. I answer. “You can go now.” It bursts from my opened hand like a winged flame, and soars for the nearby forest.



Well, here we are,

Me writing,

You reading,

In a sort of virtual correspondence


And I murmur dimlit apologies

For the way my words

Are stepping on your toes,

And you whisper back that it’s alright,

Because you don’t really like poetry anyway:

I was merely the kid in the back of the room

Who looked lonely,

When you happened to be standing there,

Twirling one lock of hair around a finger

That now scans these lines,

Bemused at my tongue-tied audacity,

While I excuse my two iambic feet.

The Beginning

Once upon a time, everything began. Things have been beginning ever since, and I seem to have been addicted since birth. I can’t stop beginning things. So here’s a new, and another, beginning. But I begin this blog also with a view to ending some things, because no good story lacks an ending. And somewhere along the way, I myself will end too. But what happens in the middle…well, I don’t have a clue. Some of the stuff I find along my way through the exciting middle chapters will get posted here.

Here’s to adventure, to the death of every dragon I know, to the coming of kingdoms, and to every prince who ever got the girl.

A time beneath a once, it was,

The day my tale began…


(Read on, adventurous stranger. Other posts lie beyond!)