Twelve Nights in Italy, the White Peacock

It’s a sculpture, surely it’s a sculpture?

Brilliantly white peacocks don’t actually exist… apart from maybe in places like Narnia.

It stands stock still, not a movement nor a flutter of its delicate white feathers.

Definitely a sculpture.

I step closer. Nothing. It is made from alabaster. A clever whimsical sculpture amidst the leafy terraces of an immaculate Italian garden.

I start to turn away… and it blinks.

‘Ha, fooled you’ its arrogant expression mocks.

Then, just to convince me it really is flesh, blood and feathers, it slowly unravels a treasure. In seconds a huge, intricate white fan frames the snow peacock’s proud face.

White Peacock

I’m not sure I have ever seen a creature so spell-bindingly beautiful. It could have stepped straight from the pages of a fairy tale.

Now I’m the one standing still; as if petrified by an Ice Queen’s magic.


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