On the Red List

 A robin hopped on to the arm of the bench.  I had not a crumb to share with him.

The bench sat in a sheltered nook on the clifftop, high above the path past Jenny's Well.  From below the sounds of kittiwakes and cormorants rose on the thermals.  But at the top of the cliff it was the songbirds who grabbed the attention.

The robin stopped and stared.  Much higher, unseen, the skylark enjoyed the sunshine.  All Aboard, she sang, All Aboard.

I thought of dozing off.  It was that time of the afternoon, right enough.  Put the book down, just for ten minutes. Open views across the bay, to distant cliffs where the gorse bloomed.  On the water nothing stirred; neither sail nor fin.

The bench was hemmed in on three sides by dense thickest of whins.  With the air beginning to warm up so the scent drifted.  At first I couldn't place it.  Sweetness, from the golden canopy, masking those thorns.  Then it dawned on me.  Coconut.  That was it.

A scurrying startled me, perhaps from droopy eyes.  On the path, not ten yards away, wide eyes stared me out.  Sprouting little branches that one day would be antlers.  The deer had appeared from below, bounced up the coppered bracken of the cliff.  A couple of steps between the whins, and he looked around.  Then off he went, lolloping across the field towards Bow Fiddle, white hearted dock bouncing across the greenery.

He left me with the yellowhammers for company, yammering about cheeeese, as usual.  And from down below the sounds of the surf rolled on.

Coconut.  And cheese.  Venison too.

Then I realised, each one of them is on my red list.  Do not touch.  Or face the consequences.  Appetite wakened, I settled for a stick of liquorice.  And read on; in the sunshine.  As the birds sang all around.