A black cloud descends upon the flock of tui birds.
Most of the tui birds have dispersed into the surrounding trees. Some have vanished altogether. Perhaps they know something I don’t. “Am I wise to remain standing on my deck?” I wonder.
Without warning, this tui has come down into the tree closest to the deck rail. With his wings slightly raised, he faces me directly. We stare at one another for what seems to be an impossibly long time. He’s sitting so close to me and I’m puzzled by this. I don’t recall seeing him here before. It usually takes a while for individual tui birds to feel comfortable around me.
I’m in awe. Not only is he huge, but he has the most striking silver feathers on the top of his head. It looks as though he has a silver Mohawk. I’ve decided to name him Baron de Silver.
Suddenly, the Baron bursts into song. His sounds are accompanied by dramatic movements. He flicks his beak up toward the sky and his snow-white throat feathers move in and out rhythmically. They look like tiny inaudible cymbals, softly clanging together. I am truly mesmerised.
I’m not Baron de Silver’s only observer. Cat, a female tui, finally comes down from the pohutukawa tree where she’s been hiding. She takes up her usual position on the deck rail. Sipping nervously at the half round of orange, she strains her neck up and rapidly turns her head from side to side. It’s a jittery, awkward movement that distinguishes her from the other tui birds. Her left eye is impaired, but it is a strikingly, beautiful pearl globe.
Baron de Silver drifts down gracefully from the manuka tree and sits on the rail on the other side of the orange. Cat looks so tiny next to him. Her throat feathers are thin and wispy in comparison. I am worried that he will see her affliction as a weakness. “Please don’t hurt her,” I whisper.
Without warning, there’s a dramatic liftoff. I see flashes of iridescent blues and greens. They’re so fast; I can’t tell who’s doing the chasing. Their noisy flight is a mix of whirring, flapping craziness and short glides of silence. They make number eight loops around the trees, in out and around, in out and around. I yell out at them, “Stop it, you’re making me dizzy down here,” and all the while I’m delighting in their aerobatic playfulness. They stop and bounce around like monkeys in the pohutukawa tree. Occasionally they sit facing one another, both singing loudly before taking off and repeating their orbit of madness. I’ve lost track of them now. They’re too fast for me.
Suddenly it is strangely quiet. Cat resumes her position on the deck rail and looks at me with her good eye.
Baron de Silver has vanished.
“What did you do that for? I rather liked him,” I said.
(HEIDI PADAIN)
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