It seems as though little Susie is not the only one with poor eyesight (apart from us). Every day there is a thud against a window, of varying intensity relative to the size of the bird which doesn't seem to know it's flying into the house. It's not as if the windows are clear - living next to the sea and being a double storey means that window cleaning is rather low on my housework priorities - so I'm not sure what causes it. Yesterday a bird hit a window so hard that I can only think it was being chased, or had been hit by a sparrowhawk, as that has happened before to the accompaniment of thousands of tiny feathers wafting down for ages. I couldn't find the victim despite an investigative foray into the garden, so it will have to remain a mystery.
Doves and pigeons regularly leave an imprint of spreadeagled wings and a bent neck and sometimes an eyeprint, but it's seldom fatal and they sit on the ground for a while to regain their composure before disappearing into the blue yonder again.
This morning I found a little Cape White-eye sitting on the balcony, quite unconcerned by our presence and not looking injured in any way. It wouldn't have been a good idea to leave it there as a snack for the cat, so I reached down to pick it up and it didn't bat an eyelid. I carried it around, moving it from hand to hand and it had no ruffled feathers or apparent injury, but was quite happy to sit on my finger with its tiny claws clinging tenaciously to this strange, soft twig.
It was only when I reached out to stroke its tiny head that it took flight, swiftly swooping over the treetops and into the shelter of a coprosma. What a privilege it was, to hold this fragile creature which showed no fear.
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