The birdbath resembled a sunflower - the rim, green petals, and the bath a seething mass of brown.
So many sparrows.
I call them Gatherers because they gather - they come to guide spirits to whatever next destination is theirs.
So many of them...
The shadows that stand in the shadows came in the middle of the day.
I took battered tin mugs of tea out, and placed them by where the old fish pond had been.
They will be there when I go out, later.
Untouched.
It's not about the tea, it's the gesture.
Somebody's world changed in an instant and they are a little lost, a little overwhelmed.
The Gatherers have gone.
And if I look there will be no shadows in the shadows, now.
Just a couple of battered tin mugs of cold tea.
Speedwell, strangers.
๐
About five minutes after the last of the birds had decided to head off for the night, the old bird with the curved beak (it's easier to refer to him that way) turned up in the big tree.
He could hear the flock being noisy "over that way" so he yelled at them.
No reply was forthcoming, so he yelled at them, again.
That wasn't working, but he could see me in the garden, so down he came...
He landed on a bridge near the house and let me know that he was there in his "I'm going to shout at you as though you're 2 kilometres away" voice.
"Thanks, bird...", ha ha.
"I suppose you'll want some food..."
"Well, while I'm here..." he said, ha ha.
I've got only a rough idea of how big a cockatoo stomach is, but going by the amount he ate, I could have been forgiven for thinking that he hadn't eaten, today.
Or maybe it's because he's a glutton, ha ha.
He loves sunflower kernels.
If I mix them in with sunflower seeds, he'll pick all the kernels out, and ignore the seed.
Mister fussy eater, ha ha.
I'm not worried that he's not getting enough to eat, he knows that if he comes here he'll get food, and food he likes, ha ha.
He's not going to starve, he might go hungry, but he won't starve.
At worst he might have to lower himself to eating bread (Oh, No! Ha ha), but he knows where to come when his tummy rumbles.
He has a favourite spot where he likes to eat, it's on the extension to the pergola bridge.
The extension slopes downwards, slightly, relative to the pergola bridge, so Takeaway can get up, poke her head out of the Old house doorway, and see him at the other end of the bridge, bobbing up and down, pretty clearly.
But he can't see her, or not as clearly.
I know this because he doesn't fly into a blind panic at the sight of "One of those things!!".
Or, of course, maybe he doesn't care because he's got the food and she's all the way over there, ha ha.
Ultimately, as long as he's happy, that's what matters.
Takeaway? I know she's happy. She just likes to scowl at cockatoos - "Hasn't it gone away yet? I can't get up and stretch while it's there... It's a very inconsiderate bird...", ha ha.
๐
And now for the classical music aficianados - sound up please, and stay with it.
Stawks, I must thusly point you towards PDQ. Bach ..... 
(Totally unrelated to J.S. Bach or any of his siblings).
