Keen, silent, watchful.
Beak clacks as he wheels back to his morning haunt to whack and gulp a tasty morsel, recently living, already changing form to become his source of energy.
Whip birds crack.
The morning birdsong fills the air, rises to a crescendo that for a while becomes deafening.
In the distance, sunlight begins to creep.
Zig-zags tree to tree.
Illuminates trunk upon trunk; advancing in fits and starts.
Pauses again, then leaps across the nearby creek, gathers momentum and continues its inexorable advance.
|Is this my best angle?|
|Sunlight catching the trees through louvered windows|
|The sun seems to leap across the creek in the mornings.|
*I can't believe I forgot to take a photo of the kookaburra on breakfast watch.
a Drabble is a story told in 100 words. No more. No less.