There was a peacock by the side of the road, a simple country road where you might see scavenging chickens or crows, a winding traveler’s road unless it was as far as you needed to go. He lifted his feet and nodded his head but didn’t look back as we passed him by. Peacocks belonged to certain times and places, posing and parading where they were transplanted, ogling and ignoring spectators waiting and waiting for what they thought was coming. Peacocks were known to tease with their tales…oops…tails trailing behind them, not needing all eyes on theirs to court attention. Where was the sweeping lawn or gilded courtyard for this one? He had the iridescent train, noble crest, confident step, and—as my distant experience heard—commanding cry of a greater bird than appeared out of nowhere. When we saw him on the run, more from our confusion than his own, he brought a little magic but also mutiny to our day.
Author’s note: I begin a new series on my blog–writing inspired by my observations of flora and fauna. (My goal is to post one every week in addition to any other posts I make. Goals, like rules, are for breaking.)
I welcome others to share their nature insights too.
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