Possums?
Did someone say possums? ha ha.
The little possum chose to climb down from Mum's back, not in the careful "slow and steady like an alligator walks" way, but more in the "There's a platform... it's okay, it'll break my fall" style, ha ha.
Plop!
Had I ever wondered what the sound of a little possum falling onto a plywood sheet sounded like, now I know, ha ha.
She's down, it's time for a quick explore, and then...
"I've got teeth!".
Well, at least, I hope she's got teeth, because otherwise her little gums are going to be sore, after the way she mowed into the pile of sunflower kernels.
She climbed up onto Mum's back, and Mum shuffled forward to have a drink...
Sitting here, listening to Mum have a drink isn't as interesting as the food back there is...
Down she climbed...
Mum walked off onto the side bridge, stopped, and looked back... that look that only mums can do... ha ha.
Quick as a wink the little girl was back in place, and they headed off into the night, ha ha.
There's another old man bird who's been coming by.
He likes bread.
Would you like some seed?
No thanks...
How about some bread...
Does this face look excited...? ha ha.
I see you've found a smallish piece of bread, that you're holding in your claw and nibbing away at...
Would you like this larger piece of bread?
No thanks, I've already got a piece of bread...
There's a logic in that, somewhere...ha ha.
Over time I've given thought, not so much to a book, but a dedicated blog for the bird and the possums stories.
But the nagging doubt-thought is always there - how long do you think you'd last before it stopped being fun, and it started being something that you'd very quickly start hating?
How long would it be before I stopped enjoying writing?
This format's great because I can write when I want - I can write, today, but i don't feel like I have to write, tomorrow.
I probably will write, tomorrow, because I enjoy writing, but I don't feel that I'm bound to it.
"Free as a bird", that's the expression I'm looking for, ha ha.
I worked out that half the reason I've become so fascinating to the baby girl magpie is that her parents are off doing grown up things - finding sticks for a nest, preparing for the next brood, and she's become a third wheel.
I think she's feeling a little bit lonely.
I imagine she has a dozen or so "friends" like me, scattered across the suburb - people she can spend time with.
We're not magpies, but that's okay, we're still nice... ha ha.
🙂
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