io8 A BUSH CALENDAR 



the mother bird near. I would just peep in and have a look 

 at the chick, then hide somewhere near, and wait for the parent 

 to return. I stepped carefully forward, peeped in, and found 

 nothing. The nest was bare. 



I am not a tearful subject, but you must admit that to have 

 had my treasure robbed from under my very eyes was enough 

 to make anyone weep with anger. I had been looking forward 

 so much to seeing the baby bird, and had meant to bring my 

 camera and photograph it. And now nothing remained but the 

 empty nest. Some vandal had found my treasure trove, and 

 I was left lamenting. 



It was a very disappointed me that turned homewards, 

 But already the sun was flinging crimson banners in the west, 

 and the notes of the butcher bird and the thickhead came 

 full and sweet on the gentle breeze ; high overhead swallows 

 were skimming, and a flock of silver-eyes went "peek-peeking" 

 by. It wasn't a time to be sad. Despite the chill creeping 

 up from the gullies, the joy of spring was in the air. Why 

 should I cherish my disappointment about the loss of one 

 treasure when the world holds so many? 



The faint fresh flame of the young year flushes 

 From leaf to flower ; 



and the weeks to come will bring joys too many to grasp. So, 

 clasping my sweet burden tighter in my arms, I marched to- 

 wards the sunset, singing. 



