Hang on May, not even the last seconds of May and I've finished my Birdseeker for this month. Crikey! I would be boasting but he is only a small fella, gorgeously small in fact from what the books say he is stitched to scale 9ish cm small. So yes when I place him on my fingers it is like he has perched there, I'm not ashamed to admit I've tried that who wouldn't right?
The Firecrest isn't especially a May bird I've cheated there I'll admit that too I just really wanted to stitch him, but they can be seen all year round. They are one of our smallest songbirds their markings are more dynamic than that of the Goldcrest who vies for the title of smallest bird, I like to imagine this is purely dependent on their snacking abilities. I also like that they are called Kinglets due to their crown like mohawks. They are often described as a restless jewel of a bird, the more I find out about birds the more I enjoy the quirks of not only their natural beauty but their behaviours almost like bird personalities.
So this young Mr Firecrest really wanted to become a bookmark. Which brings me to this truly delightful book 'The Poetry of Birds', it was given to me by a dear poetry-loving friend who is lucky enough to be called Bird. He tries to educate my little brain and this book is filled with much loveliness and inspiration. In my poetry book I read a poem about birds going in search of moon food, which referenced to a time when people thought that birds wintered on the moon. I loved this thought and it reminded me of a Paul Weller song that always warms my heart 'Moon on your Pyjamas' and made me think of birds in moon hats and boots (I refrained from stitching those). The lyric on the back is from that song.
Lastly I'll leave you with a poem from the book by Siegfried Sassoon.
Everyone suddenly burst out singing;
And I was filled with such delight
As prisoned birds must find in freedom,
Winging wildly across the white
Orchards and dark green fields; on; on; and out of sight.
Everyone's voice was suddenly lifted;
And beauty came like the setting sun:
My heart was shaken with tears; and horror
Drifted away... O, but Everyone
Was a bird; and the song was wordless; the singing will never be done.