A memory

Four ducks on a pond,
A grass-bank beyond,
A blue sky of spring,
White clouds on the wing;
What a little thing
To remember for years-
To remember with tears!

A memory a poem by William Allingham.

Ode to Bird Watching

(All photographs by Anvita Lakhera.)
Now
to look for birds!
The high iron branches
in the forest,
the dense
fecundity of the soil,
the whole world
is wet,
rain or dew
shines, a tiny
star
in the leaves:
in the early morning
mother earth is cool,
the air
is like a river
that shakes
the silence,
it smells of rosemary,
of space
and roots.
Above,
a wild song,
a waterfall,
it's a bird.
How
from a throat
smaller than a finger
can the waters
of this song fall?
Luminous grace!
Invisible
power,
torrent
of music
in the leaves,
sacred conversation!

Clean, washed, cool
is this day,
resonant
like a green zither,
I bury my shoes
in the mud,
I leap over springs,
a thorn
nips me and a gust
of air like a crystal
wave
separates on my chest.
Where
are the birds?
Was that one, maybe,
that
whispering in the foliage
or that fugitive ball
of gray velvet
or that sudden shift
of perfume? That leaf
which the cinnamon tree let go,
was it a bird? That dust
from the irritated magnolia
or that fruit
which fell resounding,
was that a flight?
O invisible little cretins,
fiendish birds,
go
to hell
with your twittering,
with your useless feathers!
I just wanted
to stroke them,
to see them glisten,
I don't want
to see their lightning embalmed
in a showcase,
I want to see them alive,
I want to touch their gloves
of genuine leather,
which they never forget in the branches,
and to talk with them
on my shoulders
even if they leave me like certain statues
undeservedly whitened.

Impossible.
They can't be touched,
they can be heard
like a heavenly
whisper or movement,
they talk
precisely,
repeat
their observations,
brag
about whatever they're doing,
comment
on whatever exists,
master
certain sciences
like hydrography
and know for certain
where all the grains
are being harvested.

Well then,
invisible
birds
of the forest, of the woods,
of the pure bower,
birds of the acacia
and of the oak,
crazy, amorous,
astonishing birds,
conceited
soloists,
migratory musicians,
one last
word
before
I go back
with wet shoes, thorns
and dry leaves
to my home:
vagabonds,
I love you
free,
far from the shotgun and the cage,
fugitive
corollas,
this is the way
I love you,
ungraspable,
united and sonorous
society of the heights,
liberated
leaves,
champions
of the air,
petals
of smoke,
free,
cheerful
flyers and singers,
aerial, terrestrial,
sailors of the wind,
happy
builders
of the softest nests,
unceasing
messengers of pollen,
matchmakers
of the flower, uncles
of the seed,
I love you,
ingrates:
I'm going home,
happy to have lived with you
a moment
in the wind.
- Ode to Birdwatching by Pablo Neruda, translated by Stephen Mitchell

Life According to Birds

Chapter 76: How to make a perfect circle by the young Mallards

Another day that is not Sunday

The wind surges through the trees. The leaves gush and bubble. The dandelion seeds quiver clinging to tiny white parachutes ready for adventures unknown. A ladybird flies right into the center of the flower. A bold explorer. A deep red jewel enclosed in a lacy white box. The bee finds succor among the lavender. Gossamer like wings glinting in the sunlight. The heron silent for an eternity suddenly stretches his wings. First left, then right. While the mallard scratches and shakes and preens. Then starts all over again. And in the pond a lily cracks open its first petals. The air gets electrified by this magnificent debut.

Meanwhile you pass by thinking today is just another day that is not Sunday.












(All photographs by Anvita Lakhera)

Everywhere to fly to

I've got a strong urge to fly
And I've got everywhere to fly to









(All photographs by Anvita Lakhera)

Birds being birds

"Is this what I think it is?" Chaffinch inspecting the seeds to
ensure they are organic sunflower seeds.


"If it's good to drink it's even better to dip your head in."
Blue tit at the bird bath.


"I am out of here." Mallard exhausted by the demands of her
growing brood (not in picture) decides to take a break.


"I told you to keep to your side." Coots politely settling their
territorial dispute.


"The view has to be seen to be believed." A juvenile Mallard
learning to do what a duck does best.


And this one is just for the sheer joy of watching birds
being birds.
(All photographs by Anvita Lakhera.)

Life with birds

(All photographs by Anvita Lakhera.)
The adventure continues here.

All that wooing

It's that time of the year again. Lots of wild chases, incessant quack, quacks and some nudging and shoving.








(All photographs by Anvita Lakhera)
Get the complete story here.

All's well as long as it ends in a meadow filled with daffodils and bluebells leading to shall we say a happily ever after.