My favourite bird is the Tawny Frogmouth, that master of camouflage. But I don’t think that the space between a roof and a deck is quite what his plumage was meant to blend into.
This one looked fat and healthy, smug even, as they can. It (he?) ignored me in the tradition of ‘I’m just a bit of broken tree branch.’
I would say hello every day but never received an acknowledgement… let alone a reply.
I hadn’t heard one, but knew one was about, as every morning there were fresh droppings in my carport.
A year ago, I had surprised one there, sitting on the awning holder of my campervan, so I had been assuming it to be the cause of the droppings.
So I was delighted to see it take up visible residence for one week, and hoped that it was the same Tawny, grown bigger. And I was very sorry when it moved on.