Though it does not take the same shape each time; nonetheless, the consequences often leave you feeling frustrated.
Just when you are in the groove to write, something, or someone is only too willing to distract you from your work.
This morning that distraction is in the form of a bird – of the feathered variety.
Yes, you read correctly: a bird.
Sitting at my favourite trestle table and bench in a park overlooking a sparkling blue sea, a bird decides to waddle by for a chat.
I find his squawking distracting.
‘Go away,’ I say, looking him straight in the eye. ‘I have no food.’
The bird continues with making as much noise as he can.
‘And quit it with the squawking!’ I say. ‘I don’t like you screeching at me.’
With pen in hand and note paper at the ready, I write. But my concentration is interrupted, this time by a different sound. More melodious notes are coming from, you guessed it, the bird. With beak clamped shut, I notice his throat move in tune to the warmer sound.
‘That’s better,’ I say. ‘Much easier on the ears.’
Again to my writing, but the words flowing from pen to paper abruptly cease as I feel the bird’s opened beak press down on my right shoe. Ducking my head clear of the trestle table to gain a better view, I see the bird take a couple of steps away from my clad feet.
‘Doesn’t change anything,’ I say. ‘I still have no food to give you.’
The bird waddles around the trestle table: still with his beady eyes on me, still continuing with his melodious glottal harmony.
‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘I am unable to help you.’
With that said, I resume writing, but not for long. Once more my concentration is disturbed, not by noise, but by the lack of it.
Looking up I see the bird waddling away from me. And turning my head towards fresh sights and sounds, I see a jogger and his golden-haired Labrador running up the grassy slope on the other side of where I sit.
When I return my gaze to where I had last seen the bird, he is not there. I look around me, but he has vanished.
Finally! I think. Now I can get some work done.
The peace and quiet does not last long. Hearing the whoosh of wingspan and the tap of claw against timber, I look up. This time, it is a magpie giving me the beady eye.
‘Good grief!’ I say aloud. ‘The wildlife around here is way too distracting. I’m going home!’
Copyright Jo 2015