Birds

The House Martins

Observation

A house martin building its nest. [Source – Pixabay]
Sun-soaked! [Source – Pixabay]
At work! [Source – Pixabay]
Collecting mud. [Source – Pixabay]
House martins in their sunbaked abode. [Source – Pixabay]

Living the old-fashioned way, centuries old, ancient maybe, the House Martins are busy today as well, no, no tea-break. Beading a muddy network, necklace-like, a palace of one room, warm and cozy, like a pretty tiny cup, delicately built yet sturdy and weather proof.

Conquering not the world around but cooperating and cooperating well with the surroundings, these muddy nests form friendships with the mud, grass, grey concrete, wind, rain, moss and all life, very peacefully, no show-off.

Dashing up, slanting down, catching its meal mid-air, round and round, it pierces the sky jet-like.

Their sunbaked abodes, their sun-soaked flights, their sun-tuned lives – the House Martins follow the sun, old style.

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A Storyteller Appeared

Posted on August 18, 2024 by Jagriti Rumi Beasts Birds Blessed Earth Chinese-Whispers Circle Dancing Rivulet Gatha Giant Tree River Stories Storyteller Storytelling Wind Words

Tribute/Short Coverage

**Listening to the storyteller with care.**
[Image by Bianca Van Dijk from Pixabay]

A storyteller appeared… and cross-legged, excited, whispering, wondering, quiet, blank yet touched by warmth, we sat in a circle around him.

As if the giant tree with creepers, fungi, lichens and company, stepped back humbly, only to create a space for us listeners and the storyteller.

As if the wind played softly, swaying, singing a chorus in the background, only to live the tale being told, only to collect and pass it on.

As if the quiet birds stopped chirping or playing Chinese-whispers, only to let the melodious melody of the storyteller resonate.

As if the fragrant river turned into a dancing rivulet, only to water the story.

As if the blessed earth, steadied the spinning sky for a bit, only to partake in the narration.

As if the jungle beasts, big and small, furry and feathered, befriended the now and stopped the time, only to witness the storyteller’s old and endless Gatha.

As if the words, rhymed and bold, simple and gold, measured well and sold, performed in unison, only to let the storyteller’s story by all be known.

Glory to the known that welcomes the unknown.

Photo by Jagriti Rumi; Courtesy – KP
Photo by Jagriti Rumi; Courtesy – KP
First Indian edition. [Source – Wikipedia]

The absolutely fantastically amazingly brilliant book Beastly Tales from Here & There by Vikram Seth inspired the blogger to write this piece as a tribute to the author and as a short, crisp sort-of-a-coverage of the book.

It is a must-read for anyone interested in life, stories and the art of storytelling.

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The Month of April

Posted on April 15, 2015 by Jagriti Rumi Birds Butterflies Dandelion Magic of April Messages Moody Moon The April Drama The Month of April

I haven’t given much thought about the month of April, I realised it only recently. April… very quiet and yet so lively a month.

Emerald hues all around, telling me a secret and listening to me at the same time, swaying with the wind and merging with the blue sky.

A little yellow dandelion standing all alone at the end of a cliff witnessed all the April drama.

**Butterfly flying in a rhythm…**
**Image from Pixabay.**

Butterflies can fly so very high, up the giant trees with two-three light hiccups on the way, sitting on the top of the tree or sweetly enjoying the descent. And they always fly in a rhythm, they are always playing a tune.

Some also say that butterflies carry messages; imagine a fluorescent yellow, bluish-black with a tinge of orange message flying towards you… definitely worth feeling amazed.

And what can I say about the birds? The group that chirps all the time, the pairs that keep singing lengthy songs, the sets flying one after the other and the sole bird sitting somewhere preoccupied with a thought.

**Thinking… meditating.**
**Image from Pixabay.**

While the sun in April looks exactly like we painted it in our drawing notebooks with an orange crayon, bright and glaring, the moon, on the other hand, looks different every night.

One night the moon is attended by starry twinkles, the next it is all alone talking directly to you, expecting a face to face chit chat.

Then one night, I stared at the circle the moon had drawn around itself… as if that night it didn’t want to be disturbed. Funny!

A few days later it was crescent-shaped, clearly asking me to come up with the help of a rope.