Sitting in a wee square of garden listening to the sound of the birds reminds me of last spring. I ended up wie a flegling seagull, which I suspect might have come tae grief via old fox on the wall. At the minute, I’ve a blackbird singing like Pavarotti fae the top of some tree, or other.
To the tale. Last spring a magpie was attacked by its ain kind and it too ended up in my wee space. It looked worse than me on my worst night out. And like the grey mare Meg in Tam o Shanter, had lost its tail.
Well yesterday a magpie landed on my feeder, and it didnae have a tail.
Just Listening
Published
Writer 