JANUARY 63 



down where the soakage from a garden on the hill creeps out, 

 two peewees flew shrieking up from the moist spot, but even 

 their noisy voices seemed less harsh than usual; and further 

 down, amongst the white-blossomed bursaria bushes near the 

 creek now as dry as any road a fan-tailed cuckoo wailed 

 more fretfully than ever as two brown tits did their best to 

 appease his hunger. 



Although it is really more than midsummer, there are still 

 a good many baby birds about. A week ago I saw a black- 

 cap honey-eater feeding a pallid cuckoo, and the week before 

 that I found a fantail's nest with young ones almost ready to 

 fly. On the same day I found a kingfisher's nest with one 

 pure white egg in a hole in a red gum, and in another week or 

 so there will be the squawking of baby kingfishers coming 

 from that tree. Last Saturday, when walking over the heath 

 towards the sea, I came upon three of the sweetest of all baby 

 birds, three little chats or chitwees, as the boys call them, which 

 had just left their cup-shaped nest in a low thick bush. 



The red gums just now are things of beauty, with their dry 

 bark dropping off in great pieces, leaving the soft flesh pink of 

 the new skin below. This evening, as I walked amongst them, 

 their trunks were flushed from palest pink to deep blood-red 

 in the fierce sunset glow, making a magic wood of my peaceful 

 valley. Amongst the rocks, where the creek ran three months 

 ago, I found two snow-white bushes gleaming in the twilight ; 

 they were blueberry ashes (Elaeocarpus cyaneus), which later 



