Call Of The Wild

I'm sure I've said before that one of the pleasures of going to teach in Leeds is going the back lanes route, cross-country. This time was something really special; read on if you will...

It was a glorious morning; my colleague B later said she's followed the setting moon all the way in from where she lives near Boroughbridge. I usually stop at the cornerstone as shown, and on this occasion is was quiet and magic.

From the woods behind me, I thought I heard an early dog walker whistling, but no-one appeared. Then, the whistle again. I then realised it was a bird calling and one in the distance, replying.

OK, I thought, three can play at that game. I've always prided myself (since I was about 8; a dozen years ago, give or take...) in being able to whistle any note with a couple of fingers. Currently teaching grand-daughter, M, to do so...

So I mimicked the bird calling, got several responses and suddenly was treated to about a dozen red kites rocking and a-reeling right over my head. Showing off big style. The [extra] is probably the dodgiest composite image ever seen on Blip; the single images are even dodgier, but I was just about spinning on the spot!

One of my favorite authors and Scottish poet, Kathleen Jamie, when watching gannets in the Shetlands encapsulated what I felt, albeit she was surprised by a family of killer whales (Jamie, K 2012 p86). Obviously the species don't compare (and like her killer whales, the red kites are resident to the area), but the feeling I (and she) had are identical I reckon:

"We learned too, that this was a resident group following a regular beat around the islands; they were not a rare occurrence. But I remember how that huge fin manifested itself in front of my eyes, a private miracle. For days after I felt different, looser of limb, thrilled because the world had thrown me a gift and said, "Catch!".

Kathleen Jamie. "Sightlines". Sort of Books, London (2012).