Black bird singing in the dead of night…
Friday, March 28th, 2008I am unwell. My limbs feel terribly heavy, my head is pounding and I just can’t face the thought of doing, eating, drinking, watching, or reading anything. So I’ve been sitting on the sofa, my bleary eyes fixed on the bird feeding station, willing it to begin sporting avian life, all in vain.
Apart from being very dull, it’s also dis-spiriting. From my little patio in Windhoek, I could see all manner of brightly coloured birds at close range, as they stole strands of wool from my mop, or dropped little gifts on the tiles for Boris to sniff at. I know that Bournemouth is not Windhoek, but even so, I’m supposed to be able to attract some birds to my little garden. Even a blue-tit would be nice. I simply don’t understand what I’m doing wrong.
I don’t suppose it helps that it’s lashing down outside. The rain is so vicious I expect any birds venturing out would find themselves shredding in half a minute, and if I were them, I’d be hiding somewhere warm too.
This lack of birds is becoming somewhat of an obsession with me. I started off so excited at the thought of a garden full of twittering, feathery little bodies, and now the only reason I leave food out is out of some kind of misplaced stubbornness - an unwillingness to admit defeat, and the fact that the birds simply do not like our garden.
Any advice?
