the churchyard birds

fictional reflections of some sort of place to imagine

commonly, as every sunday afternoon came to pass when the churchgrounds had emptied and the afternoon zenith approached i would find myself perched on one of the stone steps of the church entrance overlooking the graves, their leaning epitaphs a little shady in the warm sun. it was a practice upheld from my schooldays, as a youth practicing notes and homework on the back of an old book, carried with me to and from school. the remote church building stood as if forgotten by the world in its surrounding village, a picturesque place that belonged in old postcards or wartime photos.
what, exactly drew me to the place was nothing but an expectation, an overwhelming desire to sit in the seclution and seeming safeguarded perimiter of the church, but most of all, was the desire to aimlessly stare at the birds that flocked to the old sycamore tree in one corner of the graveyard. the chirping and swooping movements of the birds brought an overwhelming emancipation towards the weeks routine and also never seemed absent from the churchyard, although no one seemed to keep them or shoo them away.
over the years the sprawling sycamore had little changed from day to day and the yearly shedding of its leaves had bought it little growth, its narled roots digging up the earth and the lofty branches shading the gravestones. and also, as the seasons changed so did the birds migrate and come to the tree, sparrows and swifts alighting in the summer breeze, house martens scopeing the village from the  branches and more often than not a stray robin in winter, its song catching vapour on the chill air. all year round they could be seen in the churchyard as if they themselves were the flock of the church and the old sycamore their minister, reading prayers of the seasons on the graveyard below.
there seemed a long communication, a communion even, between myself and the birds as many years i had spent there in the grassy churchground musing their flight and song, perhaps they saw me aslo as some part of the grounds seated on the church steps year after year season after season on a sunday afternoon. that i was somehow a part of their flock and migrations observing the birds as  they came and went was a distant wisper to me, longing to come and spend time amongst their dancing and flutering through the year.

Reviews

[roarke]

Great imagery, great moment capture. The narrative really fit the character of birds and the setting of the churchyard. Enjoyed.

[Jade]

WOW! Great detail and description here, This is a very well written write