C. J. Black
Bird watching (Of the feathered species of course).
That’s where I was at this particular Friday morning.
Sitting in the conservatory sheltering from the blistering sun.
Watching swallows do a merry dance, crows lined up on telegraph wires watching perhaps, a murder of crows ducking and diving high above in a cloudless sky?
The dog, also bird watching, as the young from nearby nests swooped down feeding no doubt on little insects which would be hardly visible to the naked eye.
While birds, those large people carriers left vapour trails behind them as they jetted off to the four corners of the earth.
All this, quietly observed by this impeccably dressed magpie, who sat motionless on the roof of the annex for what seemed like an age.
The phone rang shattering the silence, and frightening the magpie.
I answer, remember me the voice at the other end of the line queried, it’s me Jenny.
Ah! Jenny lovely to hear from you it’s been quite a while how is life treating you?
I sat there, phone on speaker while she went on and on about this tragedy and that tragedy, the operations she had, the marriage breakdown, the family emigrating.
I tried on a couple of occasions to intervene but she was on a roll, like there was no tomorrow and she had to lay it all on me.
I let her talk away while I was in the kitchen brewing up a strong mug of coffee.
Returning, I picked up the phone, Jenny I said I’m so sorry for all your troubles but where do I know you from?
She said why, John is that not you? No I said this is Maurice here – voice at the other end of the line, Oops, wrong number and hung up.
A bird of a different feather I thought as I replaced the HOT phone back in its receiver.
C. J. Black©β
C. J. Black