Image: JACKDAWS. Acrylic on Canvas. 76 x 61 x 2 cm. 2020
Jackdaws have built a nest in our chimney and we have to wait till the young or grown and leave before we can get it cleared, a job for a chimney sweep, but not till the lockdown is finished. Jackdaws are not the only nest builders however. Here’s a poem from 2013.
We humans like to make a nest, where we can wallow in a hollow, surrounded by the very best, a nest to keep us safe and warm and comfortably clad, a nest to keep the outside out, where it can do its thing, without express permission to get in. And in this nest we hope we can control the forces of the world, the earthquakes, the tsunamis that threaten to impinge upon our construct of paradise, our level Eden garden playing fields, where divots have all gone, and all the multiplicity of life’s little complexities can be one. A nest with loving care, reliable and always there with plot plants and a picket fence, so welcoming and warm, a place that is a haven in a storm. But best beware, you keen nest builders everywhere, that nature is much stronger than the nest, and your attempt to dot the I, to lock the door, to keep life out, will simply be a futile cry for help. Deep below the rubble, when time decides to burst the bubble of your fickle security, then you may realise at best, that this is just a nest that perches on the branches of a bigger tree, that grows outside the garden of the likes of you and me.