EDITOR – An ode to a lost plum coloured starling.
The last day of 2016 dawns much like any other.
Rose-pink skies in the East, a Burchell’s coucal calling in the distance. Soon a resident troop of vervets emerge from the canopy of a Natal mahogany where they spent the night. It is going to be a hot day – hopefully ending with rain.
By nightfall there is no rain in sight, instead a new ‘energy’ emerges – the incessant drone of traffic, motorbikes revving, people shouting and music thumping or blaring from every different angle. Mother Nature’s natural rhythm is totally drowned out. A long night lies ahead.
By 11pm the artificial madness, now fuelled by alcohol and boombox music, erupts in a volley of blinding and deafening explosions. Soon enough, like someone gave the go-ahead, bomb-like explosions rip though the night. Within minutes, it seems like the whole world is under attack – not unlike a war zone. People whooping, dogs barking in confusion and panic. Somewhere a car alarm goes off. Flash, boom boom, crackle, pop – what fun?
Never in his life before has he experienced anything remotely like this. He flees the nest, adrenaline surging, blinded by the bright flashes of light and the heart-stopping explosions – the love of his life and unhatched babies, despite. Bombs explode, one, four, then rapid staccato pops from another house, a ‘fountain-head’ explodes overhead. He connects the invisible wire fence at speed, instantly breaking his wing. Trapped, in pain and overwhelmed with fear, he calls out, not his usual soothing, melodious call but rather a hoarse cry to the love of his life (now far out of earshot) almost in Morse code: I’m here, I’m trapped, in pain, I’m dying. I love you.
For hours on end, and yet the madness continues.
Shortly after 4am he gave his last, barely audible, feeble plea for help before his broken body shutdown.
A kindred spirit discovered his discarded remains smashed up in, and still clutching, the wire fence. His stiff, lifeless body now no longer an iridescent purple and contrasting white but a lifeless matt, grey mess – dead. Just one of thousands unseen innocent victims of indiscriminate use of fireworks.
A TRUE STORY
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