When daylight comes

Actually, by the time I get out to feed the birds, daylight has been around for a good long time. My justification: they finish off any leftovers and the garden is a bit less disgusting.

I won't pretend to be sure that this is Mottled Breast, because they behaved like Tane.

I mean, that sure looks like Mottled Breast. Maybe MB has taken over the garden.

Anyway, I was feeling "the darkness" and the bird came, closer and closer. Perching, remaining, looking at me, right in the eye, approaching, eating, fluffing feathers. I was just spellbound. Feeling that I could, for the time, let go of the grief I feel from who knows where and that afterwards the grief would be a little bit less.

It's funny how this happens. How birds have this ability to make you feel "seen" and sort of put in your place. Yes, they are often as fearful and wary as mammals, but there's also this "I can fly" quality that maybe sets them apart. This "I am so much faster in all my reactions than you" quality. This "I am not entirely earthbound" nature to them.

I got a similar feeling from the somewhat haughty crow and hissing swan.

They say, "You think you have it all mapped out. Let me tell you this: you don't. And though I don't trust you, I trust myself to hold my own. And so I will tolerate you being there. For now. Show me one sign that I don't like and this relationship is over. Curtains. Done."