Ten years of drought stunted our trees. But since the rains came the garden has put on growth and green. The fruit trees in particular have almost doubled in size. The kalamata by the back fence - always hardly is now stout - prinked out with grey green leaves and abundant blossom. Thick as a hedge it has provided near perfect cover for a nesting thrush. She built a deep grass and mud daub affair almost at eye level. I climbed a ladder and looked into it before she was done. The mud was still wet - the inside as smooth as a hand thrown pot. She sits diligently and I speak to her when I pass. Our eyes meet and I try to appear as unthreatening as is possible for a giant two legged thing to be. Sometimes I see her fly direct into the tree like an arrow shot into a thicket - her powers of navigation so finely tuned. Yet yesterday we found a speckled brown birdy corpse on the verandah. There was not a mark on the body. It was likely she had hit the window and fallen dazed to the ground. Did she fly at her reflection? Did she not see the glass? How is it that she could fly at full tilt into the olive yet fail to navigate a familiar landmark like the house?
Goodbye bird.
You will be missed.
