Sue Vincent’s #Thursday photo prompt: Early snow #writephoto

 

hills

Patrick reached up to the last berry on the low branch. Nervously looking to right and left while occasionally stretching his neck to scan the skies above. No dark shadows were visible, no signs of a soaring bird above. He felt safe, camouflaged in his brown, mottled gold and fawn, feathered coat but one still had to be wary or they could be unlucky. A badly timed movement could be notification to watching eyes on the ground or in the skies, then with a pounce or a swoop life could rapidly be cut short. Patrick listened intently and sniffed the air, he felt something amiss. Gradually, like a mist forming in front of him he saw small feathery white flakes starting to fall all around. “On no, he thought, I will be caught out here in a minute, the snow has come too early. Quick,quick, I must go and hide”. With a rush he ran into the heather and nestled down onto the cool pine mat, crouching as low as he could. With his head tucked under his wing he soon relaxed and pondered his best methods for keeping warm. His feathers provided excellent insulation and if it got too cold shivering for short periods warmed up the blood. He hated the snow, he would have to dig  through it every time he went to eat and often the water would turn to ice so he couldn’t drink or bathe. Like most birds Patrick enjoyed a bath, fluffing his feathers right up and letting the water splash over his exposed flesh. Of course there were times when water wasn’t available and this meant he had to take dust baths, this was quite exhilarating too especially when he could sit on top of an ant’s nest. Though feeling guilty he knew that the ones he beheaded and rubbed into his skin were so soothing. Getting rid of any itchy little ticks that had fastened on, irritatingly sucking his blood and so difficult to scratch and dislodge. Anyway now was not the time or the place to daydream. He would have to run back to the copse before the snow covered the ground like it had the hills in the distance where his white cousins lived. He didn’t envy them sitting out in the cold snow. He was happiest when he sat dozing with just one eye open in his warm heather and bracken bed

 

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Filed under Flash fiction, nature inspired, Self compositions

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