It was the second morning of my weekend-getaway, I found myself wide awake by 6 am and very soon perched on a rock in the midst of an orchard right across my room. I was seated here for over an hour now, looking up at trees where little birds- sizes ranging that of my thumb to half my fist, and hoards of squirrels moved about recklessly, busy with their morning chores, oblivious to me or that it’s Sunday. I patiently waited for them to hold still for more than two seconds, just so I could capture them with my mobile camera held in my already tired arms... For a moment I pulled my hands down to rest them, and I suddenly heard...
Two loud calls, shrill screams for attention, I realised I knew this call, my heart raced and ears perked up, I held up my camera up again, reinforced with curiosity, forgetting the aching arms for the moment.
I walked with measured steps to the back of the small shed that I was facing. I heard foot-steps, but that of sharp claws against a metal roof, there was a rhythm to the movement, the sounds were coming from beyond the six-and-half-feet tall compound wall. I spot something that looked like dry bundle of grass. The bundle moved, and suddenly something popped up, I saw sharp arched beak, a crown, long neck in the most beautiful hue of indigo, and it disappeared just as quickly as I spotted it...
On an impulse, I was climbing up the narrow knee-length-high brick ledge of the compound wall. Reckless I'd say myself, and by now tactlessly trying to balance myself. My aching arms are back in awareness, now worsened with my left arm holding all my weight against the wall and the right arm balancing the camera precariously. I looked across the barbed-wired fence above and noticed broken glass bottle pieces edged to keep intruders away from.. Well, climbing across the wall from the other side.
The barbed-wire or broken glass pieces were hardly the distractions, but the sight across took my breath away and I immediately dropped to the floor and came tumbling after, yes, humpty-dumpty style, but not before I had a quick glimpse of my objects of interest swiftly bobbing away to safety, alarmed by the movement across the wall, away from my direction.
I got back on my feet, composed myself, steadier now, took a long breathe, I massaged the arms with my freshly bruised palms, stretching them again to climb back up. I couldn't hold up much longer than my first stint, stepped down with remaining dignity in less than a minute, though no one was looking, or not that I noticed, but this time I stepped down more gracefully.
For a change, I was quick to realise that I am not ready for such acrobats, but intent nevertheless. For the next attempt, I optimize my home label - 'lazy bum'. There is good reason for this, for I try and get much work done without as much moving few fingers. I realise I could get what I want by just stretching my hands up, gripping the camera, leaning my arms and body against the wall for support. It also helps me stay still, now that my hands are trembling with added excitement. Moreover, keeps me from scarring the wild pheasants.
In stealth mode, I spotted them again, a pair or are there three of them... Ready to tango?
This was possibly the only time I couldn't stop beaming with joy looking at a cocky, flamboyant, strutting display of a male specie in all his glory. He was, as if, showing off all the attitude in the world to one much attracted female around, the other couldn’t care less, she was busy picking fresh worms from the very earth she sidestepped.
He was focused on his show, not wanting any distractions, self-absorbed in arrogant display of all his plumage, blue, green, purple, specs of burnt-sienna, shiny, fluttering, wriggling, switch-sidling around an axis, swaying and bobbing his head to some low-frequency slow-music like Dervish dancers. No particular rhythm yet there was oodles of omph in his moves. One female was hooked for sure, but he didn't care to give her any due, shooing off her advances.
He is said to be the crown glory of my nation, his kind not known to fly too high, but declared as the bird of highest order of my sub-continent, laws written to never ever cage him, his kith or kin as they are set free for eternity on this land. After all his strut has won his kind some brownie points. Over generations, he has been more superior gender, more recognized, his plumage picked to adorn the charming good Lord's hair do, or as the tool to let creative juices flow as prose or poems, and to caress your love.
Such cockiness rarely brings out prose in me, much less poem. My Sunday turned to a funday, the most eventful mornings in recent months... I felt blessed with the experience, I am certain many would say, why so much prose for a pair of fowl dance, but it was my first sighting of pheasants really born free, not waiting to be set free.
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