From the day we poured shell of the pond it had water in it. Well it would have, we did all our building work in the wettest season on record, but that's another story.
From the moment it had water in it we have been visited by the magpie family, and for at least seven years they've continued with what can only be described as a ritual. Each year they bring their latest family member to join them.
They don't fly in. Presumably out of respect for ourselves, they walk.
Like cowboys checking in their guns at the door to the saloon, they land near our letterbox and walk the length of the driveway and then some more until they arrive at the pond near the front door. There's a shallow bit that they bathe in, one watching the other, each warbling the whole time, then they'll hop onto one of the lower branches of the frangipani to clean their beaks, before perhaps popping back in for a good splash and another chat.
When it's all done, they'll walk back down the driveway to the letterbox, then take off till the next time.
I wonder if they are going to miss us.
Day No: 20
Nights at Home: 17
Days Without Visitors: 12
2 comments
Maybe not you ... but certainly the pond.
Delightful, Peter.
These are the memories to record.
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