All through winter a vibrantly-plumed kingfisher has visited our garden almost daily. Most mornings he sits on the bean-frame, plunging to catch an unwary insect before returning to his perch to gulp it down. Ever-vigilant, his bright eyes scan the garden; he doesn’t miss a thing. Once or twice he was accompanied by another kingfisher, but whether they are mates or not, I don’t know. His iridescent feathers have been a bright spark of colour, especially on gray wintry mornings, bringing a smile to my heart.
I admire his patience and regular habits. He is missed on those few days I don’t spot him from the kitchen window while I prepare our breakfast porridge.
A large family of Californian quail also visit, though not as frequently as Mr Kingfisher. They peck under the fruit trees, their bobbing heads busy as they hunt for titbits. Usually one or two males are on sentry duty, watching for the neighbour’s cat. While their family nibbles on dainties, the guards watch in every possible direction, ready to call their high-pitched alarm.
I enjoy watching birds. They intrigue me with the way they follow the seasons and organise their lives. They sing at dawn and at dusk, and have their favourite perches. Oh, to be so faithful.
I’ve also enjoyed creating fantastical birds in my books and have no trouble seeing them in my mind’s eye. Here is a short excerpt from Doorway of Death; Book One of The Thousandth Way Chronicles. Enjoy.
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“Have either of you seen a herd of Crowl before?” Raed asked the boys.
They were doing their best to maintain their steady nonchalance and sullen expressions. But fear was making an even better effort to emerge on their faces.
At the shake of their heads, Raed grinned. “You’re in for surprise.” He sent me a wink, and, even though the din of beating feet was filling the air, I felt safe. Raed knew what was approaching, and was not alarmed.
That was good enough for me. I settled more comfortably on Dancer’s back to enjoy the show. We didn’t have to wait long. With a sudden final flurry of small creatures scuttling, and grasses bending and breaking like a whirlwind had descended upon them, the funniest little animals emerged. Birds actually. Yellow, fluffy birds, with long, slim necks like flamingos, but topped with pointed pink heads that looked like perky sunhats, and wide dark eyes, that gave the appearance of sunglasses. Focused completely on the race before them, they dashed across our path and into the grass on the far side. There must have been several thousand of the odd little birds. Their legs were long and thin, but they had wide toes that stirred up the dust, sending it swirling into the air. The dust was the most annoying part of their appearance. The wind caught it and sent it billowing towards us. I made quick alterations to our bubble, to prevent dust from smothering us and the horses.
We waited, catching more glimpses of the comical Crowls through the dust, until the last stragglers scurried over the track and disappeared into the now beaten-down grass.
“Well,” I said, patting Dancer’s neck and praising her for being so patient. “I’ve seen everything now.”
Adapted from first posting on Nanas blogs from the Beach, 12 Aug 2022
