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{song thrush} david caddy The song thrush atop the buddleia in full measure regenerative, translating in such hot, modulated mimicry and talk that one by one we walk outside to witness this celebrant, this emissary. Our minds go back decades to when we last heard this bird so loud and clear, to see the orchards and hedgerows when such song burned and coloured and fruit rolled on the tongue without complaint. Our wild back garden despised, sniggered at, and thus anointed by sound and edges of light in the broader frame of modernity makes us melt in physical delight and burst out. |
