I realised that if I had to choose, I would rather have birds than airplanes ~ Charles Lindbergh.
*Quiet time* was something of a misnomer this morning.
I have a cane chair upstairs in our overlarge bedroom where I can prop my feet on the low windowsill & look out through the canopy to the slow swirl of water that is our bay. There are usually lots of the little birds:finches, honeyeaters, silvereyes, flycatchers & fantails flitting through the leaves & warbling away. It creates a happy background noise for prayer. That all changed this morning.
It wasn't that the sound was unhappy ~ just, well, noisy. Lots of squawks & squeaks & arks punctuated by a shrill trill. I just had to open my eyes & peek. There, perched along my verandah rail, was a whole family of butcher birds & despite their extremely grotty feeding habits I am very fond of butcher birds because they have the loveliest song of all the bush birds. And they were all very intently watching the very fat grand~daddy of a butcher bird try to fit himself flat in my bird bath & roll around making sure every last feather got a good drenching. The peanut gallery had plenty of advice to offer about the process to boot!
As I watched more & more birds arrived until there were over half a dozen in various stages of either attempting to get into the bath, drink from the rim or dry off after their ablutions.
Half an hour later all that remained was one lone half~grown chick perched forlornly on the rail & a seriously depleted bird bath!