don't confuse the narrator

costumes and customs

Years ago (in our world before digital cameras, hence no photos) we were asked by a friend to make a costume for his son for the school carnival celebration. I don’t really know why he thought we would be good people to ask, but clearly as bar owners he and his wife had little free time for handicrafts.

He gave us a cardboard box and told us what the costume should be, but the details were up to us. Several rolls of aluminium foil later, and with the addition of such details as stick-on dollar signs, a coin slot and tray, and a dangling electric plug, we had created a rather wonderful one-armed bandit that won the prize for best costume.
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lovelorn poets

February started on a Wednesday this year, meaning that the second Tuesday was the 14th and the Madrid Stanza meeting was scheduled for Valentine’s Day.

When I realised the date, it occurred to me that perhaps some of the members would have better things to do than sit around discussing poetry. Then again, perhaps poets are most inspired when crossed in love, so it should have come as no surprise that there was the biggest turn out yet for the group.
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bonnets and bobbles, Tam o’ Shanters and tassels

In Ávila
the church towers all wear
Tam o’ Shanter storks nests

Actually, it’s not just the churches; any tall roof may sport a heap of sticks at a rakish angle like a French beret or a Scottish tam.

Except, of course, when the whole building roof or dome appears to be the bonnet and the nest is just the toorie – the bobble on the top.
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storks, herons and a crane

construction crane and storks over church tower

As is probably apparent from other posts on the blog, I tend to notice birds. I don’t actually like them very much, but I notice them and they crop up in my writing all the time.

This week I had to go to Ávila, a city that boasts more storks than any other place I’ve ever visited. Every church tower has a nest or two, and everywhere you go the great pterodactyl-like silhouettes wheel slowly overhead.

Here in the village we seldom get cigüeñas, although we have a pair of garzas that are nesting somewhere along the river. I find it odd how easy it is to tell a heron in flight from a stork. There’s the distinctive curve of the neck and something about the heron’s feet that always makes me think of ballet shoes.

Yesterday, though, my attention was caught by storks and a crane silhouetted against the sky. (The pun works rather better in English than in Spanish, where the construction crane is grúa and the bird is grulla.)