0051 The Blackbird Of Truth

Waiting for the train, listening to the blackbird singing across the railway line I whistled a musical game with it of call and response, variations, show-off riffs; the blackbird listened, held its head a little to one side, crisply hopped onto the iron rail and I thought myself mighty clever as we played our musical game, and it flew across the line, a few yards nearer, swiftly, with clear intention onto the platform two yards from me and the whole world turned on me as I realised I had no idea whether it was playing at blackbird makes friends with man or whether it was planning a swift dart at this rival’s eyes and I felt humble, stupid, ashamed, and yes scared, to have intruded in this blackbird’s life; stopped whistling, turned away and pretended it was just a game, knowing now it wasn’t.