Deeply  Down under in the bright Bay of Islands, (Bay of too much to some). Twas a peaceful backwater when I lived there, 30 years ago, when the Vagabond Godfrey did come.

At KeriKeri  the sailing ships dock, and from  Old Stone Store to waterfalls, feral chickens they flock….In the evening I would see him washed clean by the day, spent swimming and surfing out Mautari Bay. Sun and wind burnt, scraped by the sand, down the river he strolled, bag of feed in his hand.

I saw his lonely figure oft in the early dawn, once I asked him, old vagabond, is it a sentimental journey you are on? He said he “sought the feeling of youthful endless summer, and the pathways of old friends who’d moved on he knew not where..It is peaceful  amid these chickens, I feed the feral chickens because I care.

He said their is a higher wisdom one can learn from feeding chickens, listen to the happy clucking  and cooing as they feed, when allowed to roam free there is no desire to squabble, no pecking order, discord or greed.

Godfrey fed the feral chickens because they were there. On the beautiful Bay Of Islands , in the backwater town of my youth long ago, is a motorway and posh houses built on the river in a row. There are no feral chickens, pecking on the trim green lawns, like the vagabond Godfrey, only in legend and memory they live on…



  1. I found your feral chickens, worzelodd, and enjoyed them. You caught the chickens that roamed our barnyard perfectly: when fed, they were peaceful; when not, they pecked and complained. But the same could be said about my brothers.

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