- inspired by and written for Rozi, for her seventh birthday -
At the beginning of times, when all animals used to live in a vast forest, all birds were singing gracefully. Some started at the dimmest sight of the first rays of Sun, some waited until it finally broke up into the middle of the clear sky. Some sang constantly, stopping only to pick a worm or two to full their stomach with, some sang every now and then and some sang only if there was something to really sing about.
Back at those times, all the birds sang. Those we hear and enjoy today like the Robin, the Blackbird and the Thrust among the spikey branches of green pines that reach the clouds... Every singly bird had its tune. Even the Crow sang, too.
The Crow had a powerful voice. Everytime it opened its beaks the rest of the birds quitted for a while. They felt the strength coming from the Crow's song and they were reassured that everything went allright in the forest so they were able to resume their respective duties. The Crow sang nicely, like a trumpet, or a timbal. It was like a calling for march.
The Crow did not sing much, though. He sang dutifully but not very often.
What we, people do not normally know is that each and every bird has it's own sheet of music - it is like a guidance for singing with each note neatly scored. That is how they sing and that is how it was back in those times. The Crow had his own note sheet, too. It was on an enourmous maple leaf. Or was it an oak perhaps? It was huge. And brown.
The birds did not usually carry their sheets with themselves- they used to keep them somewhere near their nests.
Oh, and about how did the birds initially got their music sheets. Of course they were handed out one by one by the Forest Fairie. Those birds who were residing in the forest, of course. And for those who lived out of the forest, out in the great meadow, the Rainbow Fairie came all by herself. Once it was raining and the Sun was shining, too - a rainbow appeared and with it came the Fairie. She had her rainbow-colored gown on and her hair was of the colours of the rainbow, too. Imagine the magic wand she had was also of rainbow color.
So, each bird was assigned by sheets of notes.
Every bird, but the Sparrow.
For the Sparrow, being a constant seeker and eater of small grains, was busy elsewhere. He was eating the food that had been scattered in front of the Hens in the henyard. He heard the calling, but was afraid of the rain - he did not have a strong coat of feathers, you know. So instead of rushing towards meeting the Rainbow Fairie, as all the other birds did, he stayed and had his portion of grains. When he finished, both fairies were gone. There were no more handing out of musical sheets. The Sparrow was sad. He was silent for he had no tune of whatsoever on a leaf.
And his sadness slowly turned into anger. He seeked for an occassion. Seeking kept him alive. Revenge boiled his head, spoiled his feelings and poisoned his heart.
One day, the Crow was holding his note-leaf among his claws while sitting high on a walnut tree beside the meadow. He saw that the Sparrow was watching him from the ground, but took no real notice. He kept singing. And he sang forcefully. Buds sprang out with joy and little blades of grass broke through last year's litter under bushes at hearing him, the Crow. It was the Spring's Song he sang.
And when it was over the Sparrow was high up above the Crow among the branches. Immersed in singing, he did not notice it.
- Good morning, Crow. What a nice song you have - bowed the Sparrow as out of courtesy.
- 'ning Sparrow. Thank you.
-It feels so good that you have that nice song. I wish I had something half as much valueable. - the Sparrow continued.
The Crow did not answered for he knew what the Sparrows were. He took off and headed towards the forest.
As he was flying above a blackthorn a bunch of other sparrows rocketed out of the bush. The Crow was surprised and the momentary hesitation just seemed perfect for the gang. They advanced him from every possible direction. All he managed to care about was his own life and the precious note on that oak leaf. The sparrows started attacking him now. The Crow loved his song so very much that in the fear of loosing it he drew a long sight on the note. In doing so, and very unfortunately too, he lost his balance and in re-gaining control he lost the leaf. It was now drifting deeper and deeper into the thick bush. And then more and more sparrows came and each and every one of them tried to get hold of the valueable leaf. They fight over the note, not paying any attention to the Crow at all anymore.
What happened to the leaf?
The sparrows took it apart. Each and every Sparrow had his part and was quite content with it. On each of those particles there were only one or two notes left. But the Sparrow knew it had been part of the song - The Great Song - as they called it. This is what sparrows keep reciting to this very day. A note or two. And they feel gratified.
What happened to the Crow?
He was silent for a short time. His thoughts burnt his heart. He kept wondering what he had done wrong. Had he been braver would have the sparrows left him? Had he been smarter, would the leaf have not fallen into the bush? He kept repeating those questions until he finally stopped.
He felt that the passion and love he had perceived and lived through while singing the Tune has somehow left him. He tried to sing the song, though, from his memory. It came out like a cracking, like a tin jar in an empty chamber. From that time on, the Crow preferred to wander alone, in castaway places. His discontent has now wore off, but he remembers how his song used to be. And althought he still keeps lamenting about the loss he suffered, he does it in a cautionary tone.
If you see the Crow, don't despise him for his croak. Remember the song he used to have and send his spirit cheerful wishes. He needs it.
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This is Lepke (Butterfly), our only Turken hen at the moment. She displays her typical surprised look here. Note the barren vivid red neck and the yellow feet. She's a beauty - I mean, among Turkens..jpg)
This is Hajas (Hairy), the mixed small Japanese with her one week-old chicks. She takes them 'to bed' well before the older animals retire. But kids do need more rest, don't they?.jpg)
This is a nice pair. Parázs (Live Coal) on the left and Kakas (Roo) on the right. Cock-a-doodle-dooo!.jpg)
While the human parents were endulged in the pleasure of making photos with the new machine, the kids made dinner for the whole family. My son adjust slices of bread with mustards, while Rozi grates some hard cheese. Roasted cheese sandwich with an electric sandwich maker - voila! Aren't they nice and helpful? And no, they are not doing it on a regular basis. Unfortunately..jpg)
The hyper-super macro function of the new camera. One of the reasons we bought this particular model. I think you all know what this pic is about, but I' d like to hear you guessing - if playing along was within your cards for the day. All notions will be answered..jpg)
Canon PowerShot 460, welcome to my world. 
Photos are taken from HírtTv - one of our national online medias.
We have 11 tiny feathery balls around in the hen-yard. It appears that the 21 days of brooding is over. Well done, Hajas! (She is the brooding hen, pronounce her name as Huh-yush)
the backwoods are pulling me in
We'll be away with a company of good Hungarians. We will visit a place between River Tisza and Bodrog. I hope to make nice pictures there and to share them with...you? or with myself as this place seems to be as alone as the most dense corner of an abandoned forest. Well, if that's where I'm living, so shall it be.
