Jeffrey Harpeng

Fig Bird in a Jacaranda

Song is not the right word. There are no words in the Fig Bird's song. The Fig Bird is Tromp l'oeil painted in a Jacaranda tree. A painting, that is, until it sings, or at least where the music has roosted a dark eye shines in a mask of red skin. Tcher! from time to time, tcher! in its music, as if that was the sound of the string pulled to release the music wound up inside.

Branches this way and that bar a full view of the bird. They add layers of conceit to the Tromp l'oeil. Jacaranda flowers are celebratory robes, priestly robes to be worn only on feast days, priestly robes, and their halos. Spring is a long festival, exuberant with hue, chroma and quickened growth. If you walk under a Jacaranda's branches in September, October, their flowers tint the blue silk spring sky with a shimmering ache. The bird does a solo duet in avian phrasings, curly, and vibrant as wood shavings. There's not a word to scold its aria.

walking from the bird
song I daydream coloured threads
unraveling