In the morning, after shutting the gate (to keep the chooks in), I turned around to see a handsome king parrot land in a shaft of weak eastern sunlight on one of the bare boughs of our pear tree. He chirruped softly and I chirruped back. He cocked a curious head down at me. I begged him to wait and raced inside for my phone.
His back and tail are a rich, British racing green… not black. And his face has character and curiosity… not blurry fuzz.
Later, resting on my bed, I glanced out the window to see two magpies on the power lines. They had their backs to me and were singing earnestly, their wings slightly akimbo, their chins up, in full and ecstatic harmony. When they came to a pause, one sidled carefully along the wire closer to the other. I could see the claws grip and regrip. But I didn’t reach for my phone. It was too distant a shot and I knew the flyscreen would get in the way. Huddled closer together, they burst into a new round of song.
And then, a poem later, a screech made me look up and there on the same power lines was a cockatoo – white as lightning in a burst of sun, yellow crest undulating fiercely as throatsome violence issued from its beak.
I must find my little camera. It’s still not a top notch thing but it will do better than my phone. I don’t want to be a wonderful photographer like some bloggers… but just to be able to capture some of the joy.
In consolation, here are a couple of photos i was happier with.