Dialogue usually means
which usually means two-way. But some of us can have a dialogue with our self. Selves. Better, some of us argue with themselves. Frighteningly, some even lose those arguments (I do, my opponent is often smarter than me so I’ve learned when to shut up and listen …) (“It’s better,” that guy said,* “to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak up and remove all doubt.”)
THEY CALL IT
anthropomorphism. That’s when you attribute human qualities to the non-human (a bit like blaming me when you think your world is getting warmer, or declaring thunder to be a fit of pique when thrown by grumpy gods).
So I must be anthropomorphic ‘cos I see humanity in most living things, like when a couple of cows are eyeing me as I wandered past with loaded camera. Mummy cow was obviously warning baby cow about McDonalds …
—and as everyone knows these cuties are called Banded Galloways; a breed originally from Scotland and which in a previous post some time ago when I didn’t have a photo I tried to draw one. I almost got it right—
So: moving on from cows to birds.
The Spouse and I put wee bits of butter out for the white-eyes (aka waxeyes) whenever it looks like being a frost next day. They love it, and aren’t above sharing when an occasional sparrow drops in for a chat—
—and other than the footprints in their dinner everyone seems to get along okay (although sometimes it takes a fair bit of beak wiping on the grass to get a nice shine again).
I LIKE TO SHOOT
this wee statue in the park. I’ve got it from all angles in all weathers but this is the first shot with ‘dialogue’ in mind—
Dialogue indeed—whatever she’s just suggested seems to have frosted his kippers and he’s quite gobsmacked by the look of it. I guess ol’ Tinks has really rung Peter’s bell this time …
LATE LAST SUMMER
I was wandering past a harvest (oats) and saw some of it being loaded onto wee trailer things—
—and the stacks ended up a fair bit higher than that, too. I bimbled off on my way with a song in my heart and a wonderment in my head: how the hell do those dudes get down from up there?
Then it clicked (he’s swift, this ol’ dog, I tells ya) that if that lot were me I’d hitch a lift down in the wee basket-bucket thing that delivers the stooks to the top. Duuh~!
So, what was their dialogue about up there? Altitude sickness? The price of a bowl of oats on the free market? How many days left until the opening of Duck Season? Will we ever unite with the Australians, and if we do will there be any blondes left by the time we reach ground level?
BUT SET IN STONE
dialogue is not. Dialogue is alive, vibrant, animate; unless you’re stoney hearted—
—but these two, sharing a wee dialogue of their own (part of a gift from a ‘twinned’ city in Japan) seem anything but inscrutable.
Long may it last …
NON ILLEGITIMATAE CARBORUNDUM
* Some guy. Sadly it wasn’t me …