The following post should 'paint the picture' -
Maggie
comes to Town.
He had
flown across the mountain, because the water’s runnin’ low, parched lands were
increasing day by day.
He
travelled to the city where the rivers were in flow, found them pleasant and
decided he might stay.
It was the
Georges, where he landed to have a look around,
found a
lake with tall timber at its edge.
High
branches with green foliage, somewhat similar to home,
this place
might be nice to have a rest.
Soaring
high on pleasant updrafts, watching all within his view,
he could
see feathered others in their nest.
No sign of
predators or fire, left behind the Western Ranges, where drought is causing
animals to die.
Soft
morning sun from dawn to dusk, green and grassy is the land,
cotton
clouds framed by a pale and blue hued sky.
He found a
backyard garden, just at the river edge, with a birdbath and low foliage on the
scene.
Tasty tank
water, right for drinking and for bathing, then a space to spread his wings to
stretch and preen.
But little
sign of roadkill, or other food of
choice, that was until a human came out through her door.
She spread
red meat upon the grass, some soft, some very stringy, more like dead ‘roo or
Wallaby’s hardened paw,
which
needed both his strong beak, to rip and tear to shreds, as he once did when in
his western range.
He then
began to sense, this is not so bad at all, even though it began as, very, very
strange.
When once
he had ‘settled in’, with competition thin, he began his strange but friendly
magpie ‘talk’.
So then
each and every day, when his human would appear,
he’d fly to
her feet to say good morning with a
gutteral
magpie - “ grawk ‘.
©. Rimeriter 28/4/12.
