Tucked into my pocket is the soft curl of a feather from a tawny owl. I know it is an owl feather because the bird was caught on camera trap whilst hunting for voles or mice or some other beady-eyed soul, in the very spot where I find it. Soft, small, imperceptible; a browny-grey haze. I hold the feather against my nose so see if it retains any scent, and am disappointed.
I search the garden habitually for trophies offered up from whoever has been here; this gift is pure gold. We hear the owls, as though inside the room sometimes, and see them billow between the trees, but they seldom relinquish their silencing finery.
Wood pigeons, on the other hand, are extremely generous, they relinquish their feathers with abandon. Rarely do they manage to lift off without a snowfall of white down, and wing or tail feathers litter the ground. You could fashion a new pigeon from all these cast-offs, but the loss does not seem to affect them at all.
I’ve been asking the magpies to please leave a feather as a gift for me for a while now. Years. Only if it isn’t too much trouble, only if they feel like it, only if they are planning on leaving one somewhere else, just to leave it here instead, please, for me. They have always said no, not on your nellie, and flown off laughing.
Except this morning I nip into the garden and find a most special gift — this is the feather I have been pleading for.
There aren’t many things more extraordinary to me than the exquisite plumage of the much-maligned magpie. When the sun alights on those feathers they’re as striking as any fancy tropical bird. The rainbow, the gleam, the velvety black cape, the snowy white breast. Amethyst, emerald, sapphire, gold, citrine, ruby. We become complacent about this livery (and that of our other common birds) only because we see it everyday.
I think this gift was not actually discarded generously. We have a magpie pair nesting across the lane who visit the garden regularly, and we also have a pair of mistle thrushes nesting nearby, who also use the garden. I have rarely witnessed such a consistently hostile bird as the mistle thrush during nesting! They will dive bomb anyone they think is a threat; magpies, crows, even a low buzzard. The magpie-thrush battles rage several times a day and are unforgiving. The thrush is so much smaller, but faster and more aggressive. The thrush sets off after the magpie, aiming for its head, and the magpie darts into a tree if it’s quick enough. Much noise is generated: the magpie chitting, the thrush carrying on like a football rattle. Puffs of feathers as they strike each other. It is all very dramatic and rather savage.
So I’m assuming that this tail feather has been lost because of the aerial acrobatics required by the magpie as it dodged away from the incoming Exocet. Not an intended gift, rather an unintentional sacrifice to avoid something more perilous.
Still, I am delighted with my special gift, given freely or otherwise, and I must thank the magpies the next time I see them, laughing, yakking, showing off their Sunday best.
Thank you for reading.
I never use AI in the creation of these posts, despite the presence of em-dashes or brackets other things that some claim to prove AI usage
For more about JB Priestley’s book Delight, from which I originally took my cues, please take a look here:
I have a magpie feather which is outside. Like the weather it's looking a bit drab now. We've also got a magpies nest in one of our trees. I'm hoping to see a fledgling within the next couple of weeks.
I love this Sally