King Of The City
One of the best things about writing, and blogging in particular, is the ability to share something amazing, to paint a scene that’s special to you. Because in real life, you don’t always have the time or the right level of connection, to do the job justice. I’d like to share with you my experience of a recent car boot sale. I had to get up early…. And I mean brain crashingly, alarm wrenchingly early. I was pretty grumpy about the whole thing to start with, but these Kings of the City I encountered, changed my mind about it all.
First, I left the house accompanied by the warbling symphony of a blackbird. He had finished the first grub run for his family of chicks, and could rest in the knowledge they had survived the night, kept safe from deadly, prowling moggies, and were eager to be nourished – a great sign of health. Now, for a few precious minutes, he could leave his mate to continue their care, and he could sing to ward off his rivals. Now I know this blackbird pair is the only one in this patch, and he is the biggest bird in the neighbourhood. Perhaps that’s why his song is especially sweet for a blackbird – he can forget how serious its purpose is supposed to be, and can lose himself in the treacly, liquid joy of his music. King of his City of lawns and fences.
Driving down the road, car stuffed full of Stuff, I noticed a local tramp, treading his beat in the middle of a nearby crossroads. Outraged, he noted my presence, invading his brief hour of ownership of this city. Usually he creeps and slides around the edges of busy life, trying to fade out of sight and out of notice. That morning, his pride shone through, as he walked where he liked, lived as he liked, with no eyes to judge – except the interruption of mine. Regally, he graciously allowed me passage, and I drove by, humbled by the honour bestowed by this King of the City.
Hours later, a giant stomped at a dusty intersection. The ground shook at the command of his footsteps, and he could do as he liked. Unsteadily, he bent to pick up a boulder and cast it aside, to show his power. Golden curls massed on his neck, just short enough to belong unmistakably to a male, just long enough to be adorably cute, atop the unsteady gait and chubby roundness of a one-year-old King of the City of car bootville, powerfully cocooned in the love of his family.
It made it worth getting up early, to see those sights, worthy of notice of any King of any City.
Check out Rachel’s fantastic blog here