16. Nov, 2017
Blue Planet is remarkable. I think, most astonishing is the evidence that what came later on land lived first and is still evolving in the sea, in all its shapes and forms. There's a fish that's grown its fins into feet to poddle along with on the bottom, for example. I, for one, never realised how noisy it all is down in the deeps. Fish, it seems, chatter all the time, as birds do. Not just mammalian dolphins and whales in their pods, but all of them! There's even a dawn chorus. I was just enjoying the sweet chirrupings of a tiny yellow fish, when something nasty ate it midsong. I was as sick as a parrot about it.
Nature in the deep is just as red in tooth and claw as on land, particularly in tooth. There's the bobbit, not a cute type of sea hobbit, but a hideous fanged marine worm, a metre long, lurking in the sand to gobble up the unwary with its churning, garbage disposal jaws. You can't just potter down to the coral reef as if along to the allotment, humming as you go, because quite frankly, if you do, you've had it. The bream are altogether too dreamy.
There's no doubt though, that some sea animals really do have poetic souls. Who would have thought the humble crab to be so aesthetically sensitive that it practically faints at the beauty of the lightshow the cunning cuttlefish puts on for it, simply staring transfixed as the hunter is fluttering plumply in front of it like an illuminated hovercraft. One can only hope it dies happy.
There are playful moments (dolphins, often) and serious ones. If you've missed a spawning photo opportunity by a moontide, you are one seriously pissed off marine biologist, at least until next year. Then there's the bleaching of the coral reefs, and there's nothing unearthly about that, it's all to do with warming seas. Narrated in the familiar tones of Sir David Attenborough, he gently reminds us of our responsibilities to the blue planet and its ecosystems, which at ninety one, he explores as intrepidly as ever. His own ecosystem is clearly in great shape, and long may it continue to be so.
Two teddies are now
Both in my keeping,
Gifts to toddler grandchildren, us.
When new, Bruin was purple, larger,
With a deep growl.
My brother's.
Teddy was smaller, fawn,
Mine.
He lost his growl after an unfortunate fall
And a sink bath.
I loved Teddy with a depth which included emotional guilt.
I was jealous because Bruin was bigger and purple
And my own ted must never know of that.
I was the oldest but the girl.
Perhaps that played into who got which bear.
Bruin is no longer purple,
Faded after decades on my brother's windowsills,
At home and in his flat.
For a few years now, both have looked down from
The high shelf beside my daughter's childhood raised bed.
They leaned together, slightly forward,
As if wanting to come down.
I climbed up to get them the other day and soon saw why.
Both lambswool, moths have pecked their back legs into small
bald patches.
It's been a poignant time as my mother has lately died too.
I felt I had let them down, the two teds,
Neglected while cherished still.
I've dusted them off and put them on the coverlet
Of the single bed below,
Where they seem more contented, two old men together.
Better now, their worn little faces seem to say.