Pictured above is a Ring-necked Pheasant,
and below an RNZAF Iroquois helicopter.
Late November and spring rain falls the glen, dry nor-westers shed pine needle and cone - and “koork kok” crows the cock pheasant and hen who outside my window have always flown. In the thickets and hanging gardens from calls my ring-necked friend, my avian muse who, silenced by the Iroquois’s loud thrum, shines in the dappled sun its copper hues. Behold his red faced wattle in the grass, a white collared chromatic blue-green head and long tail feathers that before me pass as to the heavens his princely wings spread. For in these hills in wild and wondrous sound echo game fowl and the choppers inbound. Written: November 1994
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