The docile grieve sotto voce, thrumming
the sorrows in the shade of a lime tree and drystane dyke.
After all, there’s nothing wrong with being a little awkward,
like a former semi-famous adolescent birdwatcher—
never reckless despite youth—now a lean curmudgeon,
collecting lanterns and astrolabes, having realised that
not every message needs to be delivered.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
An evening stroll to Duthie Park is never, per se, a dull undertaking, but if I ever expected to see something more exciting than an overly vocal oystercatcher, I would be somewhat naive. And yet, today, on my way there, when I walked alongside the River Dee, I noticed something extraordinary—a grey heron chasing another one away from the banks, only to be attacked by a crow after flying too close to its nest. I have to admit that this little black fella—well, little in comparison to the heron—made quite an impression on me. Such a daring attack is really something, after all. But that’s the simplicity of nature for you. As a functional adult, you either protect your hunting grounds or your offspring—nothing else matters.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
hidden pilcrow 