Alfie, Solo
Since Dominique the parakeet died last Saturday I've been spending some quality time with Alfie, the remaining budgie. He's sitting on the outdoor table where I'm working this morning, chirping away at the wild birds, calling out to the day in a way that could be seen as pitiful (poor caged creature who needs companionship) or triumphant (being outside on this glorious summer morning).
I'm interpreting it as the latter ... and I'm marveling at this tiny guy, the beauty of his plumage and the variety of sounds he can produce. I'm especially admiring his throat spots, the little black dots that encircle his neck like a string of black pearls.
What extravagance, what artistry! The way the black complements the blue of his breast and cere (nose). That nature could contrive such a thing, such an unnecessary but perfect thing, buoys me up this summer day and fills me with wonder.
I'm interpreting it as the latter ... and I'm marveling at this tiny guy, the beauty of his plumage and the variety of sounds he can produce. I'm especially admiring his throat spots, the little black dots that encircle his neck like a string of black pearls.
What extravagance, what artistry! The way the black complements the blue of his breast and cere (nose). That nature could contrive such a thing, such an unnecessary but perfect thing, buoys me up this summer day and fills me with wonder.
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