on the balcony

what’s that small bird there?
solitary, brown plumage
curiousity

~

n.b. It’s hot here. Loose crocodiles of tourists struggle to concentrate on the words of their guides. The groups concertina when stopping at the next point of interest, (a plaque noting a witch burning, a sculpture, church, building of historic note), the lagging tail, ignorant of the prompt halt at the head. Young women, tall and sullen, trail themselves along Laurinska, or under the cool trees of Hviezdoslavovo namestie, hoping to catch the eye of a fashion scout or casting director. Heavy-muscled men, tattoos of eagles fading, swagger through the old town past cafés busy with the “we must do a coffee sometime” rendezvousing couples, old friends catching up, business networkers, heat-sapped shoppers, bored solo women of a certain age. And at these cafés, little sign of the pausing travellers’ constant companions, the sociable sparrows, bouncing in the shade of tables, awnings, parasols.

I have spotted them alone, on a balcony edge, a wall, the iron arm of an ornate bench, but not in their usual gregarious family groups. Seeing only lone sparrows here in Bratislava seems unusual to me, but at least there are swifts, the birds of summer, squealing excitedly overhead, racing over the red-tiled rooves, castle ramparts, across the squares, between the Soviet-era concrete apartment blocks painted in magnolia.

CLP 19/07/2024