The Currawongs gather for their wintry solace in numbers.
At the Ponds the commotion may number thirty or more. Often seen in the fields but coming in when they deem necessary.
The persimmon trees were abundant this year. I saw a dozen of the black birds and quickly rescued those that seemed on the verge of ediblenes. An edibility enabled by the demise of astringency, but prior to the lush mush I find unappealing.
This left the greener fruits to ferment later intentions of a persimmon wine.
However the commotion had other ideas. Two days later the the fruit had disappeared. Still there were the crab apples, and I picked some in case the wine needed extra kick. A kick these corvids disdained.
That was until this morning; when I noticed all the crab apples were gone . . . and the remaining medlars.
Yet still a few dogwood fruits remain despite the persistence of Currawongs sampling over many months, and the ever increasing commotion of Currawongs.