Menoloopal [men-oh-loo-pal]; the condition of being sent mental


There she sat at the table, solitary and secure.  Breakfast before her, cup of tea beside.  Gazing through the picture window it again struck how the denuding of the fence, the stripping away of the green curtain, had left her exposed.  Sitting here though, towards the back of the room, it was more like a bird-spotting hide. 

Where are those binoculars?

A memory floods in of an expidition long years previous, on marshes low and wet.  Climbing high wooden steps to a hut on stilts.  Stuck out like a beacon on these mudflats. Trees on the horizon, sea to the east, it seemed barren.  It was cold.  Flasks of hot water and teabags were in evidence.  Sandwiches and chocolate packed neatly in knapsacks.  Charts and pencils at the ready, the young ornithologists endeavoured, for hours, to tick off the species on offer.  Sightings came sporadically.  One pair of spyglasses between the six of them and the leader.

A few waders.  A migrant goose.  Somebody claimed a heron, but confirmation was lacking.

Came the time for the sandwiches to unpack.  Rustlings of butter paper (no plastic boxes then) and the hiss of flasks unplugged.

Then the flutter of wings.  Pigeons several, as if from some portal rent in the air, appeared at the hide's viewing sill.  Indeed, they invited themselves in.

"Throw bread, or the specs get it!"
At that moment the reminisce is broken.  Would you credit it?  Papa and Punya the roosting pigeons of the Bathroom Culvert decided to pop in the open window for  a "Hi  and how are you and are there any crumbs left?"

What, you're are asking yourself Dear Reader, has this to do with the mental state mentioned in the title?

Ah well, this was the point where the YAMster took on the cackle-mode.  It began low and gurgled up at a steady pace.  The confluence of time and event is what had tickled her funny cells.  There was no stopping that train then.  Anybody outside the window would have wondered at the "cyaaaag haahahaahhh bbwrrrashhaaaaa, sshaaawwwww…………." and the gasping for breath between outbursts.  They would have been wondering about the mental stability of the occupant of room 102.

Who was lost in the irony of the barren barricades being assaulted by the perennial and impertinent pigeon!

2 comments:

  1. Hari OM
    ...oh yeah, big time! One of those pressure release types. &<>

    ReplyDelete

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