On Friday morning I was outside hanging laundry when a little flock of tiny birds came by. I've seen them round here before, but never quite so close as this time, and I was left with a feeling of absolute pure delight following this visit. One flew right by my face as I stood on our verandah, wet clothes in hand, another perched a moment on the washing line a couple of metres away, and yet another paused just in front of me, amongst the leaves of a climbing vine, and contemplated me directly. The whole crowd continued onwards shortly after - there were perhaps 10 or so of them in the family - flying from the trees in front of the house to the trees round the side. I followed them with my family who had joined me after I had called them outside to see the birds, for some more mutual contemplation before we parted ways.
I think they might be thornbills, these little precious cheeky cutie beauties. They are teeny little, mostly grey birds with speckled chests and tucked away yellow tail feathers that light up in flight. I'm pretty sure also that they are the cousins of some of my dear avian friends from my days in the shed with no walls. So I thought it was time to write some more about those adored little friends of mine.
I'm pretty sure my friends are amongst these little ones or close relatives
These little birds, thornbills or otherwise, are the most curious of the tiny birds that I have met, and seem to be sometimes intrigued by human creatures and their beings and doings and goings about. They are not so shy as some of the others and will also come closer to humans, and they definitely pay attention. They stay mostly higher in the trees, but will fly a little lower between the trees sometimes, especially when zipping past to investigate an interesting human in action.
There are usually many of them together, and often they are accompanied by other kinds of little birds, collecting together loosely as they visit here and then there. I noticed one fantail joining the group here at Halcyon Haven on Friday, and the cloud that flew by regularly at The Wild were usually joined by my beloved sweet and timid red red robin couple, a treecreeper, and sometimes a fantail or two.
So this multi-coloured collection of visitors would come past The Wild every day, roughly the same time, maybe an hour or so after sunrise. I would always notice their arrival of course when I was there, because having no walls meant that there was no separation between myself and visitors passing - a very very special and important thing to have experienced. I wasn't always there every single day, but I was there quite often, and for some of my time living there, I was there more often than not, especially in the mornings. So as I became accustomed to their routine of coming and going, they too were accustomed to me, to us, and our movements.
And then we went away. My then partner rode his motorbike and I joined our friend in his Troopie running on vegie oil and we all went together on a 6 week Odyssey to South Australia - to the Flinders Ranges, Lake Eyre and beyond, and back again, via Alligator Gorge at Mount Remarkable National Park and the wonderful Food Forest in Hillier. (Yet more stories for telling another day.) Eventually, many terrible South Australian potato cakes later (the smell of burning vegie oil will do that to you), we returned.
We arrived late at night and fell into bed, our friend in the caravan below and us on our platform atop the shipping container, in the shed with no walls, with a piece of tin behind our heads and the window frame above glass free - open to the crisp night air. And the next morning, lying there, I think the little guys must have spotted our returned vehicles, as one flew straight up to perch on the flags that fluttered in the breeze coming in through the open window and looked straight down upon us. The little one checking in then excitedly announced to the rest, "Dadaliddle! Dadaliddle!" which I am certain translates as "They're here! They're here!" It (I'm tempted to say he, but I'm not sure) flew out and then others flew in too, perched above our sleepy faces, and looked down to see for themselves.
The open window above the bed (flags not up yet in this picture); and the view out the other way over the caravan
 |
| From outside the glass free window, perching flags now included! |
Within the week they had checked all the nooks and crannies amongst the eaves just outside that glassless window and decided as one that the best choice for a nest was the spot just most directly outside the window, the very closest to where we slept. And when the little ones hatched, the team of grown ups caring for them busily flew in all directions, back and forward, all day, non stop working to collect food for the hungry little mouths. And so, many times, they flew back and forth through the ever open window, and over me, as I lay, or sat resting, in my bed. They flew so close that I felt the wind of their wings as they passed, and many times, eyes closed, I still knew they were close, by that swift but gentle passing caress.
 |
| Nesting spot towards the right of this photo, where the truss meets the roof edge (perch flags above in shadow) |
The times were getting tougher for me by then, part of why I was retreating more and more to my own lofty little nest below theirs. As the heaviness descended upon me, happiness was getting harder to find. But the company of those tiny little birds brought companionship and connection to my aloneness, love to my sadness, and joy to my heart, every single day. Bless them, every one, and their little Lal Lal cousins who shone also, with courage, confidence and curiosity, their light of freedom and delight in flight, as they flew near and stopped, for those moments of company and mutual contemplation, as they passed by on their way, on Friday.
 |
| Nests from afar |
 |
| Nests from below |
 |
| Flight path |
