Writing for Fun
June 2018
An Inspiration - Jan Norman
It was hot and humid and the light intensity low but looking down from my perch in a rhododendron tree the bower I had laboured long and hard over seemed to shine with a quiet colourful luminosity. I had built a fine thatched bower from twigs and decorated the surrounding area with brightly coloured fruits and leaves from the forest. I was confident that this time tomorrow all the bushes and trees around would be alight with eager young females lost in admiration of my prowess and inventiveness and ready to fight each other to be my mate. I closed my eyes and imagined; line up ladies I will serve you all in time . . . Oh, that life could be so good.
At the break of dawn, after carefully preening, once again, every iridescent black feather I possessed and polishing my ebony beak on a branch I felt I could hold my own in the handsome male stakes. One last tour of my kingdom, tweaking a twig here and a berry there I was finally satisfied that all was in order. I positioned myself in front of the bower with a big blue feather in my beak and waited. The trees and bushes around rustled and quivered and I caught a glimpse of excited shiny black eyes but no females landed near me. As the sun reached its zenith I stopped parading around my bower and dropped the feather I was carrying. Exhaustion and disappointment swept over me. Where had I gone wrong?
Five minutes later and I was sky born and on my way to recce the opposition in my area.
I was astonished. All the neighbouring males had foraged far and wide and added objects, manmade objects that must have been gleaned from far beyond the boundaries of the forest. I clearly needed to do better but where to go for inspiration? Yes, I had it. I would explore the shoreline.
In warm afternoon sunshine I circled the tree fringed beach looking for brightly coloured spoil. To the west the coast was fractured with jagged rocks and amongst lay rock pools above the tide line. This could be interesting territory. I landed on the edge of one and was fascinated at the dazzling array of colours just beneath the surface. Half out of the pool was a beautiful bright orange starfish. Could I use this object? I poked it with my beak and it flipped over. I poked it again but my beak suddenly disappeared into a hole that had just appeared in the centre then clamped shut. Startled I reared back but the thing did not let go. I could feel it grinding my beautiful shiny beak! Horrified I flung my head sideways and the starfish dislodged and flew into the air and landed on the sand. When I had caught my breath and my heart had stopped trying to burst out of my breast I hopped over to have a better look at it. It was not moving so I gingerly picked it up and carried it back to my bower. I bet nobody had one of these. Returning to the shore once again I set about looking for more treasures. Just visible above the sand was a wonderful dark silvery blue, half opened shell. This would attract the girls. Not wishing for a repeat of the starfish experience I tentatively scratched at it with my foot. Without warning the two halves snapped shut taking off two of my perfect claws. I hopped about screeching my frustration.
Shaken but determined I continued to explore the tide line. What was this? A small tangle of fine blue netting intertwined with assorted sea weed and man-made detritus. This could definitely do with further exploration but not here on an exposed expanse of sand. Fixing my poor battered beak in the strands of net I heaved myself upwards. To my joy it was not too heavy and soon I was back at my bower.
Meticulously I separated out my manmade finds; one blue coloured jar lid, scraps of blue rope, a few bright blue bendy rings and scraps of blue glass stuck to seaweed fronds.
The lid full of early morning dew, surrounded by hibiscus flowers looked enticing, or so I thought, as I placed it at the end of my bower as an incentive to enter. The rest I scattered around and about all except one blue plastic ring which I kept aside to carry in my beak as an initial lure.
At the break of dawn next day I preened, to glossy perfection, my plumage but could do nothing to hide my war wounds of scarred beak and missing claws but it was now or never. I was hoping there was a female who could admire my artistic efforts and energy over and above my looks.
Picking up the blue ring and holding it vertical I began my parade across the bower opening. Was that a rustle in the leaves that I could hear? Unable to turn towards the noise because balancing the ring upright was very tricky I did not see her fly down to land in front of me.
Turning her head from side to side and eyeing me solemnly as she did so she finally came towards me. Unnerved I slackened my grip on the ring and it fell backwards to land around my neck. She stopped transfixed then turned away. Feeling very foolish I also turned away not wanting to see her leave.
Hearing a soft chirrup I looked up to see her entering my bower and walk to the middle where she rested, fluffing out her feathers in a very attractive way. At the second chirrup I hesitated no longer. The fastest sprint I had ever done found me beside her. I had found a mate at last.