Magpie

Strutting about the garden  in the rain with his swaggering gait, a bandit, a reiver, a robber.

Predator, egg thief, hunter of the weak and vulnerable, snapper up of any unconsidered trifle.

A magpie.

Bird of ill omen; bringer of bad luck; portent of doom; one for sorrow.

Yet, beautiful. Not gaudy but stylish. Classic black and white with that brilliant azure wing edging and the long elegant tail glossed with purple and green.

A deadly beauty like an F16 jet fighter or a chased steel rapier, a beauty that kills.

Unafraid, he strolled about the lawn with his cocky, jerky walk and searching eye while the sparrows scolded from the safety of the hawthorn hedge.

Finding nothing of note, he departed.

Jessie Lamont, the poet born in our village, was inspired by the bird.

Magpie

How I love you, magpie,

As you swiftly fly

From yew to willow tree!

On a stormy sea

Grey gulls may enthral,

But you are magical.

Bird, whom none befriends,

Bird, whose light transcends

Dark images of wrong,

To Beauty you belong!

I too, enjoyed my encounter but just to be safe, I tugged my forelock and asked after his family. No point in taking chances!