The fractal bird

 The Fractal Bird from Sydney Therese (link no longer works, and thanks to  Alfred Bester

The Fractal Bird from Sydney Therese (link no longer works, and thanks to Alfred Bester

To my left there’s a sea of vivid bright yellow rape, swaying in the light cooling breeze; zizzy zephyrs cause green cats paws on this canary sea and in windless pockets, in the lee of brick built barns and whitewashed cottages and flinty pubs, the hinted heat of the day is sucked out of my lungs and deep into the peppery black tarmac over which my bicycle tyres rhythmically swish and swoosh, keeping time with metronomic muscles as they pump away at pedals.

The fluffy scut of a light brown rabbit bobs up and down as the startled staring animal hares pell mell along the grass verge in a blind frantic panic, desperately seeking sanctuary as this wheeled behemoth looms ever larger and larger; it zigs and it zags and it scurries and scutters and veers hard left and disappears deep into the welcoming protective arms of the roadside thorny hedge just as I pass, a hair’s breadth away.

A Red Kite surfs invisible waves, a spy in the sky balancing itself on windy currents; black, white and rufous underside clearly visible against the clear blue canopy, its wings and fanned tail twisting and twitching to keep it on station; its prey praying for salvation. A broody parasitic cuckoo, a clade in a glade, cuckolds and cuckoos and I count the years till I meet the grim reaper; a dull grey wood pigeon coos and woos its mate; a presumptive and premature drake noisily and pointlessly chases a duck in the splishy plashy shallows of a stream, piercing the air with reedy quacks which peter out as he loses interest, settling back into the water to nonchalantly preen himself.

Spring is sprung indeed, with virginal vivid colours, fresh and new. A pheasant hops into my path. But it’s not a pheasant, more like a peacock. But it’s not a peacock. This strange, exotic and beautiful bird delicately but confidently struts across my path, moving with sublime grace, poise and elegance; I am compelled to stop. She seems to shyly glance at me, golden-yellow-brown eyes briefly, tentatively, make contact with mine and she looks away and there’s the impression of an impossible enigmatic smile.

She wears a coat of luxurious golden feathers with rainbow hues lambent and willowing and rippling across its plumous whole, shimmering and glimmering in the soft gentle spring sunshine; this particoloured passerine, a panchromatic pavonine, shot through with periwinkle blue, soft muted warm earth tones and autumn shades; bright cool and deep, all at once fresh, pretty, bright, lively, soft, beautiful, relaxed, rich, exciting, dynamic, calm and quiet; golden-yellow-brown irises glistening, paired photospheres floating in a pellucid mother-of-pearl sea.

Then the bird starts to sing and what a song, what a voice! Enchanting and beguiling, a pure crystal clear voice flows up and down the octaves, her pure mellifluous, melliferous voice, a pure honeyed hypnotic entrancing voice, strikes a chord deep within and affirms life’s spirit. I am spellbound and agog, rooted to the spot; I am a nympholept, in a state of unsatiated satori and despite the clarity of perfect sound the message I sense in her sensuous song isn’t clear, it’s opaque to me; she sings in symbols and as the meaning starts to clarify, to crystalise, as I become vaguely aware of her penetralia, the tentative image shatters into myriad shards and I’m lost; lost as I flounder through the flinders of her impenetrable message.

My world shudders, my soul is cracked open; her music is a menstruum for my miscible senses; sound comes as sight to me; motion comes as sound to me; touch comes as taste to me; smell comes as touch to me; colour comes as pleasure to me; I see the sounds of her song in vivid patterns, now a multicoloured mosaic moiré, now a kaleidescope of clashing and complementary colours, now a soft veil of vertical borealis streamers. Amaranth and amethyst, bistre and byzantium, cinnabar and cinnamon circle and spiral out of sight as the colours of infinity ripple around me. 

I hear the ruffling movements of her feathers as they flutter in the fluffs and puffs, the sensuous sashay of the bright yellow rape speaks in strange tongues: “shwwere weeeeshhhh sshurrrr shooooshh”: the feel of the light breeze on me is acrid and chalky in my mouth, the cool smooth metal of my bike contrasts with its sharp lemon and lime tang on my tongue: the smell of the warm peppery-black tarmac is like velvet caressing my cheek, the strong scent of yellow green rape prickles and tickles my skin, like a million billion ants marching over and biting into my flesh, the very freshness of the air like sateen flowing through my fingers.

Colour comes as pleasure to me: her pointillistic panoply creates exquisite highs of ecstasy bursting though thresholds of orgasmic delight; goldenrod, heliotrope, malachite and myrtle generate thrills of intoxicating euphoria; the rainbow-white stars of wild garlic are tingly-electrifying; glistening golden-yellow-brown irises send me glissading along a wave of unbearable rapture; my will is ruptured; I am overwhelmed, bamboozled, dazed and confused; I do not understand this paralanguage at all. My feelings are exposed as nothing more than an arrogant arrogation, her musical obbligato obtunds my wit; I become morose as her music becomes morendo, losing volume, fading into nothing, dying al niente

Nigrescent darkness fills my mind as the glorious splendour dissolves and disappears; this amazing magical mysterious misunderstood bird that affected me so turns her back on me and walks away and I’m left bereft; to my misery my miserere is misprized, my misprision becomes my prison; how I suffer with rejection and dejection; but the Fractal Bird’s unintended gift to me is a febrific fecundity of words and verbs that I plunder and loot and value and treasure; her song was the key that undid the lock and which set me free.