Blowing in the wind

The glittering spring day of yesterday has given way to a taste of summer - the southeaster has freshened to 'strong' and is blasting up the Fish Hoek valley in its own inimitable way. The diamonds scattered across the mirror of the sea have given way to plumes of spray as the waves appear to be moving offshore and sea birds are skimming low, taking the path of least resistance.

You can tell how strong the wind is, not only by the palm tree fronds, but by the cloud sweeping up and falling over Chapman's Peak. In the background you can see the signature 'tablecloth' covering Table Mountain - the cableway, which celebrated its 85th anniversary this week, will probably be temporarily closed due to adverse weather conditions. At times like this, be sure to park facing the wind, otherwise your door will dent the car next door. Of course, if you are like most residents of the valley, you will have no difficulty in sneaking away without leaving a note offering to fix the damage, but will be filled with indignation when it happens to you!

The vain male pintailed whydah, who spends his days admiring his reflection in the windows, appeared quite put out by the dishevelment of his glorious tail feathers with which he attracts females, and kept hopping from branch to branch to keep them in line with the prevailing wind.

Petals are blowing off the newly blossoming myrtle like snowflakes and carpeting the ground in patches of white, while the bougainvillea which covers half the roof scrapes back and forth with each gust, shedding its purple bracts - the only time I get to see them as only the piece on the roof ever flowers!

This morning I was not woken by the rooster at 5.30 - this was ably taken care of by the incessant chirping of a sunbird in the dense foliage outside my window. It became so insistent that it actually became annoying (can you believe it?) and I got up just to get away from the racket. On reflection, it is probably a hungry baby in a tiny nest and I should rather be grateful for such small mercies. After all, how many people are kept awake at night by the crashing of waves on the seashore and woken at dawn by a small bird?