in which the fish is speaking to birds

Such drama, so cinematic your appearing like that!
Out of the eye of the sun, over the clifftop directly above my head soaring into my sight.
Sea Eagle,
wings spread so wide, wing tips with feathers spread like eager fingers. Motionless above me , just your head moves, looking down into my face.

Drawing a slow circle in the air, and I the centre of it standing with my face raised up.

All at once every single bird, from each tuft and cleft and crevice on the headland rises up, spontaneously as if every note from the page of a concerto lifts, at the taptap of an unseen conductor, lifts and disappears. Silently, up and away.
Sea Eagle, such a pretty white neck you have, but you are young yet, the dark brown of the shadows underneath give you away, but here you are hunting alone.



Out to sea: above the blue, circling over gulls who clamor away. I know
when I turn around I will feel the southern wind on my face and will be forced
to acknowledge the presence of the moon still hanging
pale and blue in the daytime sky.



In my line of sight
two Sooty Oystercatchers highstepping over the rocks: I spy you both from here in the water, wearing your red spectacles
and your redpencil party beaks,
you are both so solemn as you write, carefully fullstopping the rocks, I say
you sillies,

nobody will ever read that.




Prawny!

I tell you, as you dart beneath me, bedecked with airbells, 

more small black mammal than bird.
If you frighten me again damned cormorant, pied or otherwise
I will seize you by that bobbing neck and fling you into the waves: one minute you are snake, next seal, then something else again. I tell you
you scare the air right out of me when you do that. There are
fish elsewhere
than the ones in my shadow
go find them somewhere else: the sea is wide.



In Regards to Trembling:

It is as if you have somewhere a twin, and they are experiencing some form of angst or trouble, and you shiver along with them. That seems to be the only way to describe this.

Something else:

Something I do not like is cooking, but I love painting. Tis pity I can't eat paint.: