The magpies drop into work a couple of times a day.
Be like the heron.
It’s like an image from holiday brochures or a 70s tee-shirt or album cover. It’s a moment of visual perfection. Galahs. Sunset. Trees.
Most days, while drinking my tea on the balcony, I watch the pigeons on the roof of the warehouse next door.
The pigeons didn’t know what hit them. One minute they were pecking indiscriminately at the park’s grass in the hope of some beige object being food, and the next a toddler was stumbling toward them at speed, arms flailing, with the war-cry of “Pidgieeeeee!”