Equinox, Bird

Autumn Equinox has crept up and now it's getting dark at half past seven, getting light at half past seven. Up at seven this morning I put lights on in the kitchen... Lots of sunshine this September, the gentle way in to the change of season, though as soon as the sun goes you feel that familiar drop in temperature, and there are scatterings of leaves, dewy cobwebs, blackberries, the whole bit.

And yesterday a loud thud on the kitchen window as I sat at the laptop. Could only have been a bird, I reasoned, not likely to be a prankster child throwing clods at my window. Opened the door and at first saw a sparrow on the patio, looking perky enough. Surely not you? Then a tiny bird caught my eye, sitting, looking stunned on the flags of the path along the front of our house, which leads to all three of our neighbours' houses. And when I say tiny I mean tiny. About as long as my thumb. Mouse-like. And beautiful, with some greeny yellow in its plumage, wing markings that suggested the finch family to me with my limited knowledge, and, most strikingly, a yellow stripe on its head lined with black. So tiny was this bird I had no hesitation in assuming it was a baby, newly fledged that had met an unfortunate obstacle on its maiden flight. There it sat on the path, eyes a little closed, breathing visibly. I crouched down, looked, spoke, wondered. I was about to go out and worried about it being trodden on. What to do? I wondered if picking it up would be traumatic for it, stunned as it already clearly was, but in the end decided this was preferable to death by crushing underfoot. I picked the tiny bird up, soft, light, a little warm, and it clung to my fingers with its scratchy claws and didn't want to let go. I had to prise its little feet off me, ease it to the ground, safely off the path. Wished it luck and made ready to go. Along comes C, our neighbour, returning from school crossing duty just along the road, in full lollipop regalia, and I show her the bird, tell her what's happened. She thinks she'd like to take it to her house, give it a bit of warm, let it recover, bends down to pick it up, and whoosh! Off flies the feisty little thing, twenty yards or so into a bush in the corner of the garden, and we both cheer and smile, congratulate it, wish it well. I go off to work feeling pleased and privileged.

Later, I tell L the story, show her the very small photograph on my phone, expand it to show more detail, and she goes to the RSPB website and... lo and behold, it was a goldcrest! An adult goldcrest mark you... It's Britain's smallest bird I learn, and yes, it sure is small. Quite a meeting.

Baby Teeth

I dreamed last night of a baby, held in someone's arms, not mine, and I talking to the baby and to the one who held her. I said something to the effect that the baby would soon be at the stage to start putting everything in her mouth, and at this very moment she grabbed my hand and raised it, with some force, to her mouth. The side of my index finger felt so clearly in the dream those little hard soft gums, the dribble and the determination, and I said oh, those little teeth will soon be coming through...

The Jumping-Off Point

Rising upwards from your baseball boots
you looked out, looked down, looked sideways,
a second look, a backwards glance,
and everything behind you was the past
and everything in front of you was a blur,
like trying to look at a speeding freight train,
like the dreams where you can't see
the names of the stations
to find out if you're on the right train.