There was a tiding of magpies in the park this morning; young ones, I think. One caught my eye, then flew directly at me and rolled in the air about six inches from my face, showing me its lovely belly. I did not flinch, wince, cringe . . .
(Digression: flinch, wince, cringe — aren’t these lovely words? They feel in the mouth and ring in the ear as exactly what they mean. To say wince is to wince. Clench — there’s another one. )
How did I know that this youngster was not attacking me, that it was only saying good morning? How did it know that I would welcome its greeting?
What cues do we read in each other to recognize no danger here?
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