The tennis ball
heads towards my left. I move my arms and legs and hit a backhand shot into the net. Geoff the Green
Rosella says the bleeding obvious. He says you should move your feet before
moving your arm. I nod in agreement. I always seem to know what to do after I
should have done it. Geoff just raises his head and says nothing. He is
distracted by something more interesting than me. A caterpillar. He eats it.
Job done.
Geoff is a Green
Rosella. Slightly aloof. He likes watching. Hiding in the foliage. Not getting
involved. He has splashes of colour. Enough colour to prove it knows how to do
colour. His coloured feathers are not flashy or showing off. Red hair band to
keep feathers from his eyes. Most of the feathers help him hide; blend
in. Green and black. Help him not be seen. I often don’t know he is watching
until suddenly he flies away.
His feathers
are functional. Help him fly. With his partner. The two of them are always
hanging around in the foliage or on the ground.
When he is not
helping me play better tennis he forages in the trees and shrubs and on the
ground for nectar, fruit, berries, seeds and if he is lucky: insects.
He roosts in the tree
with his partner. They chatter softly about my lack of footwork.
Geoff is
subdued and less colourful than his cousin the Eastern Rosella. The Eastern
rosella shows off. Wears bright and gaudy red feathers.
I think about
my feet. Move my feet; get comfortable and nicely balanced; swing easily and
gracefully and hit the ball. Win a few points. Lose a few but who cares. I am
moving nicely. Nice and relaxed. Not stressed. The ball is bouncing back and
forth across the court. I find the ball coming off my racquet a lot better. It
is now going where I envisage.
Geoff nods in
approval. Then he flies away. Geoff has done his job. He imagines more seeds over
that way. Or maybe even an unlucky
caterpillar.
No comments:
Post a Comment