moira de swardt

The people were angry. Very angry.

Once again they had worked to till the lands and plant their crops.
They had made the girls bring water from the river to water the
plants every day when the rain did not fall. They had made the
small boys run around and prevent the big black birds from eating
the newly planted seeds. They had kept the land free of weeds. The
children plucked off the little caterpillars that ate the leaves
from the plants and squashed them with a stone. The people had
watched their crops grow tall and strong. Eagerly they had watched
the beautiful seed heads ripen. This was the day when the women
were going to go into the fields and harvest the crop to provide the
people with food for the winter.

Yet when they arose at dawn and went down to the fields they were
just in time to see a flock of pretty orange birds filling
themeselves with their grain. They ran down to the fields, waving
their arms and shouting, but the cheeky little birds waited until
they were nearly caught before flying up into the air, much heavier
than they'd been the night before.

The people surveyed the damage. Nearly half the crop was gone.
The men were concerned about how they would find the grain for the
tax for the warlord because they would need the little that was left
for their homes. The women wondered what they would feed the
children on the cold evenings as they waited for the next crop to
ripen because the men would have to send what was left to the
warlord. There just wasn't enough and they'd have to keep some for
planting next season.

The women harvested the crop and the men came down to help them
carry it home. Usually they laughed and sang as they worked, but
this day they were all quiet. So quiet in fact that they could hear
the chirping of the little orange birds as they teased the people
about their loss.

That made the people yet more angry and they cried out to the gods
who simply stayed silent but called upon the birds not to eat so
much of the people's crops that it would cause them hardship while
the birds stayed sleek. The little orange birds agreed to eat only
a small amount of the crop the next year.

After the evening meal the men sat at the fire and debated whether
they would keep the crop and fight the warlord or whether they'd
satisfy the warlord and watch their wives and children go hungry.
The women were against the fighting for they didn't want their sons
and husbands to die, but they were afraid of the hunger in the
coming months. In the end the men went with what the women wanted.

The next year the people, even though they were hungry some days,
planted their crops, watered them when the rain did not fall, made
the small boys prevent the big black birds from eating the seeds.
They once again kept the land free of weeds and plucked off the
caterpillars and squashed them. Again the people had watched their
crops grow tall and strong. They again watched the beautiful seed
heads ripen.

On the morning when the women were going to go into the fields and
harvest the crop to provide the people with food for the winter they
again arose at dawn and went down to the fields just in time to see
the same flock of pretty orange birds filling themeselves with their
grain. They again ran down to the fields, waving their arms and
shouting, but again the cheeky little birds waited until they were
nearly caught before flying up into the air full of the grain for
which they had not worked.

The women cried and the men were heavy hearted. They complained to
the gods. The gods, still silent, again summoned the little flock
of orange birds. The birds twittered and promised never to eat so
much of the crops that they would cause hardship.

In the third year the people again planted, watered, tended and
watched their crops grow and ripen.

Again on the morning when the women arose at dawn to harvest the
crop they found the hated orange birds greedily eating what they had
not planted.

The sadness of the hungry people touched the hearts of the gods and
they again summoned the flock of orange birds. When the gods
pointed out the sadness of the people and the thin bodies of the
children, the birds just laughed.

This enraged the gods and they decided that the birds must be
punished if the little orange birds were going to do this again.

The people again planted and tended their crops. On the morning of
the harvest the women awoke at dawn and set out to the fields with
great fear in their hearts. Again they saw the birds. The children
ran down into the fields to chase the birds. The birds made no
sound. They didn't fly into the air when the children got too
close. The crop was there full and ripe and ready for the harvest.
But there in the fields were hundreds of little orange birds turned
into flowers.

The crops were harvested, the people rejoiced and there was no more
hunger in the land. The gods were pleased. They allowed some of the
pretty orange flowers to grow wild in the veld to remind the other
birds not to get too greedy when they flew over the crops the humans
planted.

Today we call these flowers "strelitzias" and when you look at them
you can clearly see they were once little orange birds.

Moira, the Faerie Godmother

geeza

Night night tannie Moira - will you tell us the one about the Chameleon
tomorrow ( Seriously)

moira de swardt

No. I don't know that one. But you're welcome to tell it.

Moira, the Faerie Godmother

peter h.m. brooks

That's a book, 'The Singing Chameleon' by the same person who wrote 'The
Long Grass Whispers'. The Chameleon was a balladeer.


--
Obscurantism in an academic subject expands to fill the vacuum of its
intrinsic simplicity. - Dawkins' Law of the Conservation of Difficulty,
stated in 'A Devil's Chaplain'

conciliator

Lovely story. Always wondered where Strelitzias originated from! :>)

geeza

Tannie knows the one about the chameleon and she just wont tell it because
she hates me and she thinks I am being patronising attitude to her and she
wont tell us the story about the chameleon but she knows it because it is
the one where the chameleon brings old age because it was used as a
messenger by the young who wanted to get rid of the old people and Tannie
Moira wont read it because she does not want us to go to sleep because she
hates me and she does know the one about the chameleon and she just wont
tell it because she hates me and she thinks that she can spite me by not
telling us about it and she will tell stories for others but not for certain
people and she discriminates against us and she is heterophobic and she will
not read stories that we like she knows the one about the chameleon and she
just wont tell it because she hates me and she thinks I am being patronising
attitude to her and she wont tell us the story about the chameleon but she
knows it because it is the one where the chameleon brings old age because it
was used as a messenger by the young who wanted to get rid of the old people
and Tannie Moira wont read it because she does not want us to go to sleep
because she hates me and she does know the one about the chameleon and she
just wont tell it because she hates me and she thinks that she can spite me
by not telling us about it and she will tell stories for others but not for
certain people and she discriminates against us and she is heterophobic and
she will not read stories that we like Tannie knows the one about the
chameleon and she just wont tell it because she hates me and she thinks I am
being patronising attitude to her and she wont tell us the story about the
chameleon but she knows it because it is the one where the chameleon brings
old age because it was used as a messenger by the young who wanted to get
rid of the old people and Tannie Moira wont read it because she does not
want us to go to sleep because she hates me and she does know the one about
the chameleon and she just wont tell it because she hates me and she thinks
that she can spite me by not telling us about it and she will tell stories
for others but not for certain people and she discriminates against us and
she is heterophobic and she will not read stories that we like she knows the
one about the chameleon and she just wont tell it because she hates me and
she thinks I am being patronising attitude to her and she wont tell us the
story about the chameleon but she knows it because it is the one where the
chameleon brings old age because it was used as a messenger by the young who
wanted to get rid of the old people and Tannie Moira wont read it because
she does not want us to go to sleep because she hates me and she does know
the one about the chameleon and she just wont tell it because she hates me
and she thinks that she can spite me by not telling us about it and she will
tell stories for others but not for certain people and she discriminates
against us and she is heterophobic and she will not read stories that we
like.Tannie knows the one about the chameleon and she just wont tell it
because she hates me and she thinks I am being patronising attitude to her
and she wont tell us the story about the chameleon but she knows it because
it is the one where the chameleon brings old age because it was used as a
messenger by the young who wanted to get rid of the old people and Tannie
Moira wont read it because she does not want us to go to sleep because she
hates me and she does know the one about the chameleon and she just wont
tell it because she hates me and she thinks that she can spite me by not
telling us about it and she will tell stories for others but not for certain
people and she discriminates against us and she is heterophobic and she will
not read stories that we like she knows the one about the chameleon and she
just wont tell it because she hates me and she thinks I am being patronising
attitude to her and she wont tell us the story about the chameleon but she
knows it because it is the one where the chameleon brings old age because it
was used as a messenger by the young who wanted to get rid of the old people
and Tannie Moira wont read it because she does not want us to go to sleep
because she hates me and she does know the one about the chameleon and she
just wont tell it because she hates me and she thinks that she can spite me
by not telling us about it and she will tell stories for others but not for
certain people and she discriminates against us and she is heterophobic and
she will not read stories that we like.

mark richardson

I wonder what sort of birds the giant strelitzia was made from. Would have
been a bit scary having them pay a visit - maybe they just grazed on
elephant and buffalo though.

Mark Richardson

johnm

In article <clicbv$95$1@ctb-nnrp2.saix.net>, Geeza <glenton@hotmail.com>
writes


-- snip snip --

Ah, the tremendous power of cut-and-paste.

--
JohnM: Country & Western Song Titles #1
--------------------------------
RAY STEVENS: Get Your Tongue Outta My Mouth
('Coz I'm Kissing You Goodbye)