My pied wagtail

I alluded to this in my first post of the year, only half-jokingly. I do have a profound fondness for Pied Wagtails, you know the ones, jaunty black and white , their gait described (quite accurately) by John Clare thus:
• Little trotty wagtail, he went in the rain,
• And tittering, tottering sideways he near got straight again.

Anyway, part of the reason for my wagtailophilia is proximity, there’s a cock whose hunting ground is the flat roof at the back of Source, so adjacent to my kitchen, and every time I have to peel myself away from the stove for one reason or another, I’m sure to see him bobbing about hunting (pied wagtails are insectivorous). To my mild amusement he quite often pecks merrily away at the window which lines the stairs, to percussive effect. Anyway, I like him, I like them. Pied wagtails, as my nearest available bird are a daily reminder for me, when it all gets a bit grindy, of the world outside. That there are things other than the stove, the prep list, and that aggravating guy on table D2 who wants his bacon destroyed.

In essence, it’s the power of nature to take us out of ourselves, which has been documented and discussed elsewhere fair better, and more thoughtfully, by much better correspondents than me. But I think my prosaic example fits nicely, the pied wagtail, an unassuming bird, which bobs, and trots and, unawares, lifts the spirits daily.