Lockdown Blues
A black beaked black bird ? A Scandinavian black bird at this time of the year. And then I spotted a dozen of his family jostling with one another on low land. This sloping green in a city scape does not seem like a pasture of opportunity and this evening does not seem like the time for a migrant trip, that’s quite a distance these guys flew out for it ! a black beaked, black eyed, black breasted black pawed black bird ? They enjoy a ribald joke , looks forbidden at home but ok here – no rules on this field ! Oh God it’s a bunch of ravens , local and foraging on the field you new fangled bird watcher idiot, deflate that stupid avian discovery balloon and keep walking!!!
The orange orb of the sun hangs low this evening as if held by twine on both ends of the horizon, the arctic air still stiff on the last day of winter, hitting my face hard and cold . The world around me is raging with pestilence, exponential curve of infection, spiralling death rate, lock downs and shuttering and humbling of globe-trotting, trail blazing, influence seeking humanity. The virus has no soul, no mercy, no goal – keeps making copies and killing the odd host soon after having found a living one. This virus is interested in our breathing apparatus and strikes mortal terror in the old. For the young and the able this is probably an inconvenience. That microscopic thing does not care whether you love it or loathe, it travels on and cuts through with silent precision like this arctic wind. I take comfort from the freshness of a distant land of ice where this is blowing from.
I am walking uphill now and a barren tree, magnificently chiselled in ruin now the stage and gallery to a song thrush. His music first and then his elegant perch, what a beautiful work of nature! I envy his talents and his freedom now. He tweets, sings, whistles and repeats almost like a shuffle playlist. It is territory and courtship that he is after, I thoroughly enjoy this performance – wish him well on his quest for love, late evening man ? Nesting, resting stuff to do, probably you need companionship. Keep going, I could never spot the she thrush but time for me to go.
Very soon I will turn to my phone, Whatsapp messages jokes, scary thoughts, statistics – charlatans, epidemiologists, new anchors, opportunists , cynics, comedians, friends and frightened souls will fill up the space. The USA, UK are now going the way of Italy and Spain which completely ignored warnings of the experts and did not lock down on time. What about testing and contact tracing? Where and how far away is the vaccine? India is just not prepared they say for this tsunami of disease and death, I desperately worry and wish luck will find a way there.
Far away in the pink sky I watch the murmuration of starlings, gliding black dots clustering and spreading out as they serenade the evening sky. Why do they organise themselves like that speeding up and making shocking turns and then dropping and heaving altitude? For humour or poetry or music or the thrill of their collective mastery in flight– I don’t know but I wonder and I feel a small sense of gratitude.
More deaths, more families not even allowed rituals, even communal bereavement is an unaffordable luxury as earth is poured on corpses in a hurry. Coming home near you!
Now the sun is gone, its last bounce on the horizon was fleeting and somewhat tragic. Time and the clock and all the horrors of horology seem to be enveloping as I enter this stretch of tall trees whelming a narrow pathway. They seem like elderly folks gently leaning in to offer sagely advice. I hate the colour of dusk, I am not threatened by it but I simply see no point to this length of time, sandwiched between the light and dark. And there they are a magpie couple, why they get so busy at dusk I am not sure. They seem to have an optimistic outlook to life busy and energetic at this time, never seen a magpie stare into the distance, a forlorn look I have seen on many a human face rich and destitute. Local birds seem apt for this time when there are travel bans, even birds are heeding to this I guess.
They say war and epidemics bring out similar emotions in mankind. One mixed with fear, haplessness and compassion. All sense of entitlement gives way to desperate lurch for survival, clutching at the straws and grateful for the day and nothing more. There is a long way for hope to take over and desire seems a vulgar thought at this moment. There is just enough light for me to pay a quick visit to the weeping willow. Such an outpouring of grief from a core of such trunk strength, this is emblematic of the desolation of mankind through this epidemic. What is it that its crying over? Loss of life, love, livelihood, status, dignity what is it that matters ? Ask the weeping willow , a bit of learned sorrow is not bad for a disposition.
My journey is over, I am back in the urban thicket of halogen lamps, siren of ambulance, cars and street names. I take note of the shadows again, the ones I fear and walk away from, even mine sometime . Soon this will all be over and there will be endless stories told and analysis and graphs drawn and lessons learned and reams of regret and remembrance would take over the airwaves.
From the ravens mistaken for blackbirds, the sun that hung low and blazed orange and the starlings that were ice skating in the distant sky, to the song thrush that captivated my soul and the weeping willow that saw my fear and grief coming, the tall conifers that leaned in from a sagely spine and the silly magpies who scavenged into the dusk – not a word .