Hundreds of grasshoppers along the railway embankment, hidden in tall wayward grass under a burning sun. Nettles bit the ankles and burdock was nearby to soothe the pain. He had caught some of the grayish green warblers by assuming the nervous and instant reflexes of his prey; a mantis slowly and steadily creeping along through the scrub like a head louse. Limbs poised in martial prayer, and then a swift skimming to enclose the object of passion in a cupped clap of hands. The dry 'chirrup chirrup' became an invisible chant held with dark reverence. Thus all he caught traveled with him to school, in a dusty pocket to meet with ancient oak and beech desks, to practice arithmetic, recite grammatical legends, flirt with girls and evade rose-hip itching powder. He had captured enough for an army and they obeyed his commands with a silent calm, moving this way and that, forming straight lines, attacking and then retreating against the incessant onslaught of Napoleonic infantrymen. Pavement cracks and granite curbs served as battlements until a Dam-Buster flew overhead and destroyed their last remaining refuge. Then, a pessimistic father peered down from the blue sky, from out of the clouds after his overtime work on Friday and pronounced their demise. "But no..." the boy cried, "they are not dead... still alive..." Even at this tender age he could not accept the finality of a posthumous verdict. And he sprinkled them with water in an attempt to bring them back to life.
All Rights Reserved/Copyright David John Drew 2010.
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