I like cockatoos.
Sure, they screech, bite, and are notorious for damaging woodwork on buildings. Yet, in their natural state, they seem to me to be lovable clowns: and masters of all they survey.
Recently, Ron and I have watched a most diligent, big white, sulphur-crested bird, gnawing away at the base of huge dead branch of a (very) live gum tree. Day after day, we see him: creating endless piles of wooden debris on the cemented path, below: making a home for himself and his mate.
Every now and then, he rests, and takes in the world around. A world of trees, flowers, insects, other birds, animals: and we humans. I wonder what he makes of us.
I watch with something like envy as, seemingly without effort, he flies away.
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