Small Birds

‘May my heart be open to little birds who are the secrets to living’

He was a Norfolk farmer. Gun boots by the back door. Huge feet, like hands, striding into the plough turned sods of earth across his fields. Labradors like out of water seals, perpetually energised, pound around his legs. Bahador, Ashoka named after Indian princes.

He like his dogs more incongruous in a Drawing room, than outside.

When key hold surgery went wrong, he lost both legs. Under local anaesthetic, he heard the saw.

He was by a window, when I came into the overheated hospital converlesence home. He was looking out.

‘You know, I’d never noticed small birds before, but they are quite beautiful’ he said from his wheel chair. A huge man, his huge hands pointing.

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