crusts

  Munch munching away at her toast she heard the sound of big boots coming for her up a gravel path.  Crunch, crunch went her toast.  Crunch, crunch went the boots and she followed the echo path into a memory;  a sore one: a wee bruise spreading and dark-marking her passage back to this same morning by the window. The princess in her tower, she thought. A tenement is a kind of a tower, maybe. Anyway: why does nobody look up? Where is the man in the real boots that crunch as he walks and comes marching smart-as-you-like to her front door?
 Outside the window a gull circle-sailed by as she chewed and looked at it and felt her mouth tightening, felt her throat dry and constrict a little. They had made their nests on the rooftops and chimney-stacks of her tenement block and they squealed and cried and guffawed all through these summer nights.  Maybe because it was high on a hill? A kind of cliff top in the city made of sandstone and slate and so forth. So they perched high and proclaimed the night and the day for themselves and the raising of their wee ones. They were a right pain the bahookie!! Oh, for a decent sleep.


 She dropped the crust of her toast onto the plate and it made a pleasing clunk as it landed. Eat your crusts, they’ll give you curly hair you know! I know I don’t want curly hair; what if I don’t want curly hair, eh? What about that then?


On her window ledge her pigeon - her coocaroo rock dove- alighted and gave her the eye. Just such a bonny one with its wee curious tilt of the head as if asking if she was all right. Hmmmm? Oh how it looked askance!! She loved its shiny purple and green neck, like fish scales, or bacon. Look at it! Keeking in at her through the glass like a right wee rascal! None of your beeswax mister!! It made her smile to her teeth and gums. I know what you're after, you wee bissom!
 
She picked up her crusts from the plate, opened the window and put them out onto the ledge.  The pigeon flew off till she’d closed the window again and she sat there sipping the last of her tea and delighting in its happy peck, peck and head shaking tearing at the crusts.   
 A magpie came rattling down all dark feathers with its smack-smack tail and beak ; another landed, and then three. The pigeon flew off. That bloomimg screeching gull cruised by and called out and its call was met by another and another and more again. A scabby starling flitted onto the ledge and almost made her jump.
 She pushed back her chair and rapped the window and the birds scattered in a concussion of flight. She had put out the crusts for her wee pal, not this rabble.The squeak of her chair on the wooden floorboard had made its mark.
 She saw the magpies land on her neighbours’ window ledges.  The starling fluttered and was suddenly back and stabbing at the toast, knocking the crusts off the ledge onto the street below in its hurry.
The gulls called from above and dived to the street after them. The magpies followed. She stood there watching them squabble and rapped the window again to no effect. A gull snatched a piece and took to the air to be chased and harried by three others . A sudden jackdaw joined the chase..
She followed the birds chewing her teeth with fret. Where was her pigeon? She looked up and down the street and across the rooftops and realized she was holding her breath and took a big gulp of air. Look at the time! She’d better get dressed. Time to head downstairs and out into another day.
She turned away from the window, not seeing a coal tit had appeared on the window ledge, a fine wee thing making morsels of what crumbs remained.
 She readied herself and headed down the stairs and out the close door for the bus. As she passed under her window ledge she wondered about those crusts she’d put out.  All around, up and about her she knew the birds were perched waiting and watching for her and her wee bit goodness. Waiting with eyes that only look to take. She quickened her steps to a run.