Great Bustards
Dear Reader,
Two weeks ago I shared the story of Mr.Arif and a crane he had fallen in love with, almost to the exclusion of everyone else including his family. Now here is another story about a large bird which goes like this:
It is about a Great Bustard called Gertrude. The Great Bustard Group, whose patron is King Charles, started a 10-year reintroduction plan on Salisbury Plain in 2004. Gertrude was hatched in 2011, one of 29 birds to be released on the plain that year. The group used feeding puppets which look like birds and are intended to replicate a mother feeding her young, They wore baggy suits to disguise their human features while feeding the infant birds.
But things didn't go to plan for Gertrude. She is thought to have sexually imprinted on people who raise her instead of her own species, which led to her trying to mate with humans instead of other birds. To no avail.
So poor lonely Gertrude. I suppose some well intentioned people didn't foresee this problem when they interfered with nature.
*
Chimp News. The chimp, the one who lives in my head, is very fed up with this grim and gloomy weather. However he is hoping that the King will be lucky and that the sun will shine down on him and the Queen next Saturday, Coronation Day. So do I.
*
From Dorothy Wordsworth, 1802 April 29th, in Westmorland
'A beautiful morning - the sun shone and all was pleasant.....William lay, and I lay, in the trench under the fence - he with his eyes shut, and listening to the waterfalls and the birds. There was no one waterfall above another - it was a sound of waters in the air - the voice of the air. William heard me breathing and rustling now and then, but we both lay still, and unseen by one another; he thought that it would be as sweet thus to lie so in the grave, to hear the peaceful sounds of the earth, and just to know that our dear friends were near.'
*
Invocation to Iona
“Iona, sacred island, mother,
I honour you,
who cradle the bones
of Scottish kings,
Who birthed coloured gemstones
to enchant bleached beaches,
who shelter puffins on your rocks.
I wrap myself in your history,
and knot the garment with
machair rope-grass.
In the Port of Coracle
your southern bay,
I hear the wind-blown cormorants’s cry
and draw a breath.
I see Columba’s footsteps
in the sand, and weep.
Tears overflow,
I am spirit-engulfed.
“I ask you, Iona,
is this then, or now,
what is, or what has been?
Does the rolling salt sea-mist
cover the uncounted time between?”
*
My novel : Victoria Scott's Dilemma is available here. It is rather a charming romantic tale with lots of laughter.
PATRICIA HUTH
With very best wishes, Patricia
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