Eyes peaking out from a flaming blue curtain, how many? Larger than life, designed to scare I guess. Moving about in restless jerks. The king of the gardens. We’re sat down on a ground blanket, quaffing wine and and taking in crackers and Patte’. The temperature is warm enough to press into your skin and the patte’ is on the verge of turning to mush. I scoop another slice on the edge of the biscuit and anticipate another crunchy sensation as if my tongue is walking on river rocks, popping and exploding. Chicken Liver Patte’ – the thought of liver is appalling, but the taste is fabulous, smoky and dark. I swig a mouthful of Pinot Gris and its relative sweetness is a vacuum cleaner in my mouth waiting for the next round.
I look across to the fanned tail of the majestic one. Signs say not to feed them, surely the corner of just one cracker can’t hurt. A beady eye fixes on mine as my hand reaches down to the opulent platter… just one corner. I flip it out like a poker chip, gambling on the well being of the bird. Will it come closer?. It always shits me how stupid these animals are – all that wariness. I’d love to pat this one, let my fingers float over those velvety feathers, but no. This one arrogantly refuses my offer,- mental note do not go to casino tonight – What impresses me more than the peacocks are the chipmunks in the shed, tiny things the size of your middle finger- I always thought they were the size of beavers or prairie dogs…. wrong!
