That’s what he seems to be saying to us as he stares at us from the window box outside the living room of our cottage.
David has collected eleven of his feathers, Jessie has four.
I didn’t believe the kids when they came upstairs to tell me about him.
“Dad, we saw a peacock outside. We got some of its feathers!”
“No, I’ll bet you saw a pheasant.” We have a pheasant that visits the manse in Hamilton.
But, when I came downstairs half an hour later there he was at the window, no doubt wondering what we were doing in his living room. Maybe he wasn’t actually looking into the room, maybe just gazing into the mirror like Narcissus, fascinated with his own image. Quite right, he is a magnificent bird.
I’ve seen peacocks at the zoo before, but never “in the wild,” though I would hardly describe this one as wild; he’s more like a housecat. But, the feathers are absolutely amazing.
But, he can also fly. I saw him in a tree some forty feet off the ground, preening himself much as he does at the window, as if he is the only one worthy of our admiring gaze.
Who knows how he got here, or what he does in the winter months. Perhaps he arrived from a distant land with a sailor, or blew in on the winds? They are certainly not native the Borders of Scotland.
But, my goodness, he really is beautiful.
We named him Junior.