Rewritten: Birds of wisdom

At the crack of dawn, he always wakes me up! “Look, Blake, I don’t want to wake up with Dawn’s arse crack in my face!” that’s how I sometimes respond, referring to the earliness of the hour. Bloody Dawn, she orchestrates a choir much too early for me come spring! But no, not for Blake. He’s up and ready, shaking me in the bed like, “Wakey, wakey! Rise and shine!” He opens the curtains revealing Dawn’s crack.
“It’s the best time to see all that life!” he beams and kisses me on the forehead. He’ll insist on going for a walk, he loves walking. But, let me make one thing clear about Blake, he walks like he’s floating. I don’t know what he does, but it’s like the land responds to his quiet step, and he tames it. The wildlife responds much the same way, for example, squirrels don’t chatter nervously and shake their bushy tails ready to pounce and run off up the trees. No, it’s like as Blake approaches the squirrel somehow knows, ‘he’s not threat to me, he’s a dear friend.’ The birds know it too, they don’t go off in a sudden flurry of flight. Sometimes he’s stopped walking, and I have continued on in my own world only to find him missing from my side when I turn around he’s stood there shaking his head and laughing at my ignorance.
“You had the chance to see so much life!” He’ll say walking or floating as he does towards me, “You’re what I call a bird plough,” He’ll put his hand on my shoulder and squeeze it reassuringly, “But so is so much of the human race!”
I always raise a brow at him like he’s insane. Initially, I meant it, now it’s just habit.

We’ll sit down at a bench, usually at his request. He’ll be sat there for ten minutes all calm and serene but by this time I’m usually ready to get up and walk some more, but he remains seated, and I ponder how he can sit still in the same spot for so long! Especially when he does it in the winter, or in early spring when it’s still cold as fuck, excuse my French.
“It’s a bit cold.” I’ll remark and start rummaging in my pocket for my gloves.
“Take note of the male Blackbird to the right of us, but be subtle about it.” He tells me eagerly.
I shift my eyes to the right, and there is Mr Blackbird perched precariously on a branch.
“Now take note of Mrs Blackbird ahead of us, a worm in its beak.”
I look ahead at the grassy verge, and Mrs Blackbird has a worm wriggling in its beak. I’d wonder to myself what relevance it had to anything. But, he’d just remain silent and just scanning the scene like he always does. I try to watch his gaze, but he can be very subtle about where he’s really looking. A woman with is pushing a pram with one hand while holding a phone to her ear with the other, and a kid running ahead of her. Occasionally she stops in her tracks, gesturing with her hands to some guy called Gary on the phone, who is, ‘pecking er ‘ead man!”  Their obliviousness to those that surrounded them sent both Mrs and Mr Blackbird flying away, to which Blake turns to me and says, “Bird plough.”
I roll my eyes, “You can hardly blame her!” I shook my head, “A kid running lose, a baby and someone on the phone!”
He smiles, “So what’s your excuse?”
Bloody git he is! But he’s my git, and though I roll my eyes at him nearly every minute of every day. He can be mildly irritating, but isn’t everyone? Plus there is a side to him only I actually see, though it’s not a happy sight I’m afraid. See the thing about Blake is, he has the most intense bouts of depression I’ve ever seen. He deals with it by using humour and watching the birds.
I’m just saying all this because, well, I’m about to marry him and well, I guess I must really love him! Because I’m currently dressed as a flamingo. Yes, I didn’t take it seriously when he said to me, “Wouldn’t it be surreal to get married dressed as ostriches or flamingos?”
I said it would be surreal and laughed. But now here I am, and I’m still marrying the bleeding git!

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