Crows & Kestrels

A few weeks ago, I cycled to chapel and beheld a kestrel sitting on the wall along Stocks Lane. As soon as he saw me, he was off, into a tree further along. As I approached that place, he flew off again, into a further tree, this time away from the lane, where my cycle route presented him with no disturbance. I thought it a little ironic that a natural predator, a hunter of birds and rodents, should itself assume that I was potentially hunting it. It took no chances, and fled for safety.

The other week, I attended a meeting at the chapel at Barley, for there was talk of the Methodists closing it down. En-route, a large black crow sat on a fence post, with the stunning and evocative Pendle Hill for its background. If I were a superstitious fool, such a sight would have set me all a-dither, as I weighed the options of whether the bird was a harbinger of death, a reincarnated ancestor, or the devil himself checking out my cycle moves. On the other hand, I should have been delighted if I were a journalist or author of third-rate novels and wished to have a stirring cover picture to illustrate my latest yarn. Either way, that crow was not afraid of me, and sat staring, like a king of the mountain. The kestrel would not let me get within fifty yards; the crow was not afraid at five feet. I meant harm to neither bird, and was impressed by the former’s caution and the latter’s boldness.

Let us learn to be careful of danger, and not take unnecessary risks; neither should we be unduly fearful of it. The devil is a roaring lion and of him we must not be terrified, but neither must we trifle. He is a defeated foe, but still vicious; wounded, but still powerful.

Image by Mabel Amber, who will one day from Pixabay