Yesterday a lorikeet with a vivid red and yellow belly bobbed on the bottlebrush by our front deck. We often get little birds in that tree, but rarely such a pretty specimen. As I write I can hear birds twittering away, squawking and squabbling and making a racket. I think the noisy mynahs are engaged in some kind of territorial battle with the galahs and cockatoos that swoop in periodically. Then there are the opportunistic pigeons who busily constructed a nest under our deck with twigs while we were in Tasmania for a week - and boy did they make a mess. For every stick they added to their nest they dropped two.
This morning I almost trod on an egg as E and I walked back from the park. It was small and blue and perfect. I didn't let him pick it up but I think we can safely say that its presence on the ground (most likely dropped by a nest raider) means there will now be one less bird in our surrounds.