Overnight the long
daffodil stalks
blew their yellow
flowers.
Now the heads bow
in amazement.
Look how far we are!
As evening descends,
the tree beyond the
pathway
is crackling with
Indian Mynas
in communal roost.
Watch the birds gather
yellow beaked squadrons
perched on the power
lines.
They peel off in
operation
dart and disappear into
the din.
The electricity of
chatter
wires the tree in a
cacophony
of Indian bird tongue.
Is it excitement
or argument? A mating
ritual?
Our neighbour Liz has a
trap
bated and ready to
neuter threat
to the native species.
Once captured they will
be transported
to silence.
I suspect they have her
measure.
The lime tree is
festooned
with yellow eggs of
fruit.
Overnight another
scattering
will drum the earth.
Rain yesterday morning
segued to a sparkling day.
On the Ridge a fox was
taking a stroll and sniff,
and two roos contended
in a dignified biff
while females grazed,
it seemed, in indifferent display.
A brown falcon flew
from tree to tree
pursued in magpie territory.
pursued in magpie territory.
A
column of small canny flies danced.
Some in the shade and
some in the sun, perchance... much like us.
A male Dance Fly will
lure a female to courtship
with a captured insect
bound in a ball of froth.
Sometimes they present
the insect unadorned.
And sometimes a male
will trick a female
with a silken balloon,
blown from below.
The fortunate female
now distracted by the lure
will consume her
nuptial gift, or consider a glistening
ball of silk, while the
male will take his pleasure.
Much like us?
