Tag Archives: birds

Thanksgiving With The Birds

Standard
Thanksgiving

Painting by Rubens Peale via Magpie Tales

“Why are you looking at me with that tone of voice?” Zim said.

“Because you are doing funny looks with your face and eyebrows” Aves responds in between pecking a slice of cake.

“Birds do celebrate thanksgiving, you remember, right.” Aves continues.

“Are you feeling ok? Here have a sip of cherry” Aves chirped. He could not understand why Zim kept giving him those strange looks. “Weird”

~*~
Another Magpie Tale for this week. Have you ever wondered if animals celebrated thanksgiving or any other festivals?

Birds and Me

Standard

Image from www.fred-london.com

The faint sound of the TV contrasted sharply with the eager loud chirping of the birds[blackbird, hummingbirds..]

Sometimes I feel like my home is smack in the middle of a bird sanctuary.

The birds are my second alarm, when they are not singing or screaming, they are digging their claws noisily on my roof.

How rude![say it with the same tone as Stephanie from Full House].

On their food delivery day, they drop their rations on the roof with a bam, sometimes scaring the daylights out of me.

They stink up the roof so bad that our rainwater is temporary poisoned.

Ah but most times I do not mind them, I love sitting outside watching the wind ride the branches whilst the birdies serenade the air.

Reading and Cooking: Dangerous Mix

Standard

Imagefrom http://www.freedigitalphotos.net

Brooding troubling clouds ride the horizon,

Enveloping the gentle breeze as the birds whispered.

There I am, sitting on a hand-made bench.

Cross-legged, head tilted up with my copy of ‘If My Father Loved Me.’

I can hear the pot boiling, as the breeze lifts up the smell of  the spices to my willing nose.

It is time to get up to check the stew,

To make sure that all the ingredients are pleasantly mixed for my taste.

Ha! but here I am stubbornly flipping another page.

It is dangerous to cook when your senses busy in a prose.

Reluctantly, I stand up lips perched in vexation strutting to the stove.

It is time to add the dumplings.

I think of Sadie and her perfume father as I drop each dumpling in the waiting spices and peas.

I wonder if she will ever find peace in her relationship with her son Jack?

I need to return to her story.

So I quickly cut off the remaining dough in funny shapes, dumping them into the pan.

This is not time for perfection!

I smile in content,

I am back to Sadie’s life, soaking up her emotional journey, thinking of mine.

Wait a minute! What is that smell!

Oh no, my dumplings are burning.