I wandered easily along in a quiet glade at eventide; I heard but the thrush’s soft trilled song and grass-hushed sound of my measured stride. Then, suddenly the still was rent with raucous cries in great profusion, startled, I looked to see what lent its voice to cause this rude intrusion; - a winged pair burst into view, a thieving crow in fluttered race and a sweeping gull of snowy hue, pressing close behind, in vengeful chase – and all the time was heard the clamour of the crow’s harsh cawing in his mad tear, the chasing gulls’ screams in unrestrained tremor like a pibroch sounded on the wing-threshed air. They skirted low o’er a bush-topped wall, nor one, nor other seemed to gain, I watched them soar, then quickly fall, then level; in their flight again. Short strong wings ‘gainst long slender, matched, fear and anger did speed imbue – they seemed by fairy strings attached, each copied movement was so true. Soon, from my vision the birds had gone nor could I tell which one did gain, slowly I turned and wandered on the thrush poured out his soft refrain.
December, 1941