. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . where ImagInatIon comes to play

Saturday, 16 April 2011


The wind blew something fierce that day. So when Di opened the gate leading to her front door, she wasn’t surprised to make out a plastic Safeway bag, what looked like a chunk of green rubber hose and something blue sitting on her front lawn. But feeling drained from her office encounter with an angry supervisor who seemed always to find just the right way to ruin Di’s day, she mumbled ‘fuck it’ and went straight to the door, key in hand.

The next morning, a Saturday, she was awakened by the voices of children, a combination of squeaks and whispers. When she looked out the picture window she saw them standing and glaring at something from the other side of her fence. On tiptoes, she still couldn’t make out what it was in her yard that had the small crowd cooing in amusement. 

Di slowly and quietly opened her door and stepped down until she stood in the center of her yard. And then she saw. She suppressed a chuckle as she looked over at the other fortunate witnesses on that warm, bright Saturday morning taking in the dance of a lost bower bird who had built himself a colourfully decorated nest in Di's front yard. 

1 comment:

Bonhomme Sept Heures said...

Les oiseaux ont cette particularité d'établir leurs demeures tout près de nos Coeurs. Reste à nous d'entendre leurs mélodies.