Postcard - No 9

07 April 2024 - Random good things, one bad.

Wherever you are - make a wish! (FR) Où que vous soyez, faites un vœu !

A very quick(ish) hello to all of you lovely souls and a friendly very welcoming wave to new subscribers, I am delighted you are here, do feel free to leave a comment at the bottom and join conversations with others if you would like to.

Every morning this week I have had to check what day it is, the Easter break and changing to summertime hours completely threw me off track and I’m still feeling, well the derailment… Not that I would ever grumble about having an extra day off or an extra hour of daylight at the end of each day…

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Random good things…

All the meadows and verges are filled with wisps of dandelion wishes, I make mine for every family who has lost a loved one to war and pray there are enough…

Magpies have arrived, an annual reminder of my dear old friend Clark Mellor who loved all animals and nursed many an injured creature back to good health - usually after it had fallen foul of one his pack of lurchers. Not the case though for one magpie who arrived after an unsuccessful beginners glide on a summer storm, carried on a wild gust of wind that spat roof tiles, dustbins and branches for fun. Mag, fell - pun intended - lucky, landing at his feet. Clark said Mag, chose the name not him and once you’d met this bird you understood why. She lived in his kitchen and sat, mostly, on the edge of the table listening to our conversations, over talking everyone with her ‘mag mag, magag, mag,’ I’m certain she understood every word. He would ask for his bacca and pipe, she would bring it to him, repeating the word bacca over and over. I’m sure she enjoyed the pungent scent of his vanilla flavoured tobacco because often she would hand it to him in her beak even when he didn’t ask. Clark loved that bird as much as he did any human, probably more. She was certainly the cleverest bird I ever knew.

Here they are in full mating ceremony, building their scrappy nests amidst high branches, chattering their joy and fury with or without their beaks filled with nest materials; string - blue bailer twine is a favourite - twigs, leaves and lambs wool, or perhaps it’s insulation fibre? They are not migratory birds but I don’t see them all winter, not up here on the hill anyway. Now they are singularly doing their cacophonous spring thing, which means I am constantly saluting their presence with a wave of hand muttering ‘Hello Mr Magpie, how’s Mrs Magpie today?’ Superstitions are hard to let go… there are some things I truly wish I didn’t know…

For four out of five consecutive days rain stays up and sunbeams shine down, possibly adding to my confusion and need for daily checking of date in case I’m caught up in early dog days - exactly where we are in the seasonal cycle of things is not clear - a strange feeling but to feel warm sun on my face for the first time in the year feels quite close to Nirvana.

The first oak tree has exploded into full psychedelic green leaf this week. The rest will follow like green forest waves washing over cherry blossom surf…

And one bad…

I receive a call for help, I drive for half an hour, twice for reasons too painful to explain, suffice to say insufficient development. Both journeys armed with the brutal tools necessary to perform that unforgivable - worse even - task I dread more than any other. “Male lambs have been born, more than I need, bring the rubber bands” my seven month pregnant friend says. Nothing but the thought makes me tremble, it always does and Seth refuses point blank to help, understandably - he didn’t want to be there in the first place but we left directly from college - meaning the whole process takes me far longer than necessary. I drive home in tears both times knowing what I’ve done. Again.

But lambs… my resolve is fading.

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My friend and kindred spirit in expat antics

Pipp Warner

has an exhibition of her gorgeous photography in Barcelona next Thursday, if you’re anywhere close to the beautiful Palau de la Música do think about popping in to support her.

Somehow, in the middle of organizing all that is involved she has found the time to write poetry about poppies too…

Poppy madness

With love