The Heron roars by my 4th floor balcony.
I just glance up in time to see it.
I swear I hear its body cutting through the air and its wings beating Pterodactyl-like.
With a sagging neck bulge, it vanishes between the brick towers
Down by the concrete slipway, where the garrulous geese hang out,
the coot’s metallic bleating distracts me from my thoughts:
where is the mother of the ducklings?
At the vet’s with a broken wing apparently (according to the local Facebook group):
battered by an angry father.
What about the ducklings?
There were 15…now 14…now 12…now only 10 left.
The Broadwater Farm boys (a notorious gang) turn up.
They’re in a bright yellow Lamborghini to film some sort of music video followed not long after by the Met in a bully van or two.
A melee ensues; a wave of phones films every moment.
Residents flock to their balconies to inspect the drama.
Too often, Mr Whippy arrives with his blaring ‘tune’ waking up the baby
“Go away you pest!”
“No one wants your over-priced ice cream anyway!”
So much going on here… what a terrible thing that the ducklings are having to fend for themselves! The Mr Whippy aside made me laugh. The most joyful music to a child’s ear but probably a living nightmare for any parent!
I really enjoyed this – thank you for sharing. x
I 🧡 the way nature crashes into the madness of city life, with the heron at the beginning. Your description of its flight reminds me of 🛫 out of City Airport between the ‘brick towers’. Such a cacophony of layered noise and bright colour assaulting the senses, a Facebook group spreading tales of animal cruelty and the ultimate cruelty – Mr Whippy waking the baby cosseted behind thick curtains on a sunny Summer’s evening. 🍦👶🏾