Of the birds and the trees

Walking down the street, I am simply amazed. The sounds I hear, the fruit I see. Aviary conversations happen in the early morning and in early evening that introduce me to a whole new vocabulary of sounds, a whole new flock. Caws and rhythmic cries call out from across the neighbourhood, fly overhead. Parrots fly in bright green couples, ibises scour the garbage, cuckoos appear surreptitiously, myna birds are always all over the place and morning doves don’t sound the same at all. And there is another bird, whose name I do not know, which is tiny, no bigger than the size of my hand. And once the kookaburras get laughing, I’d like to see you try not to crack a smile.

And at night, the air is thick with cicadas. So thick it’s almost deafening.

Every day, out in our back yard a rabbit lives among the trees, figs, mangoes, avocadoes, passion fruit. The rabbit, also known as Chubby, splays herself out on the pavement, hops over to your feet, stays close as you hang your laundry. She tries to make an occasional attempt at escape, coming up to the fence as you’re leaving. But we aren’t fooled. Chubby loves to be petted and patted, she’s really quite the social rabbit. And she has earned her name too. Most often than not, she is out on the grass chewing and munching and nibbling, seemingly always hungry, always grazing. But she is a cutie, and we shower her with attention, calling out to bunny from our porch in higher pitched voices.