Tag Archive | Flowers

The Unwelcome Visitor

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Despite my general respect for the numerous little creatures that frequent the garden from time to time, there are occassions when I am compelled to make exceptions. Continue reading

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After the Rain

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The series of torrential downpours the island has been receiving has, unexpectedly, brought a burst of colour to my doorstep. I was alerted to this beautiful male brown-throated sunbird by a brilliant flash of iridescence from behind a window. He flitted away from a ginger blossom to land on the branches of a frangipani tree. As he leaned back to preen his tail feathers the light caught his brilliant head plumage – deep azure turquoise ending in a flourish of deep purple, contrasting perfectly his bright yellow belly and the leafy green of his surroundings. This was the first time I had been able to see the colour of its plumage in full view – perhaps the bird was my proverbial rainbow at the end of the storm.

For most of the past few days, the birds had ceased their cries as they were forced to take cover from the persistent rain. I would see a sodden myna crouch despondently under a shrub and staring out at the showers pounding upon the grass, or the silhouettes of sparrows winging desperately towards shelter. Without any access to brollies or raincoats, the birds are forced to cease their daily foraging and wait for the rain to stop, wasting what for many must be precious daylight hours. When left with little choice, some birds that normally keep a wide berth from humans will take cover near their settlements. I saw a pair of oriental magpie-robins sitting rather listlessly on a length of rope that happened to be dangling under the eaves of the roof. One of them was twittering repeatedly, as if anxiously wishing for the rain to let up.

Examining their plumage, I saw that they were of opposite genders – a couple, perhaps? I’m not sure if these birds are monogamous, but the way they idled in such close proximity to each other made me entertain the notions of their having travelled together, although magpie-robins only begin the courtship season in March. But what struck me was the chance I got to observe them in a closer way than I had ever done. There’s something odd about seeing animals that are normally so mobile and active sit still, engaged in no other act but the odd preening of their feathers. And yet it afforded me a rare chance to gain more than what are usually elusive glances of these pretty creatures.

The rain, despite having temporarily put a stop to the birds’ activities, was not without its perks. It’s well-known that earthworms and snails will emerge after wet weather, providing easy pickings for many a hungry beak. And the birds’ songs themselves are also signs of the end of another burst of inclement weather, as they are free to roam the skies again. Like the birds, perhaps we can let ourselves be assured of the better times that will lie at the end of any proverbial storm. And after the rain, another lesson that Nature can teach us is of how to seize the day – for oppurtunities, like worms for hungry birds, can pop up where you would least expect them.

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A female magpie-robin waiting amid some branches.

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Close-up of a male magpie-robin

A Sunbird’s Life

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Amid the bustle of the sights and sounds that crowd the city, I sometimes forget to pay attention to the simpler delights much closer to home. Seeing birds flock to the garden is one of those. I’m proud of the variety of wildlife that’s attracted by the profusion of tropical plants outside in the yard – parakeets, cockatoos, starlings, sparrows, spotted doves, zebra doves, and even a pair of Oriental magpie-robins (the last is especially significant given that the species had almost gone extinct in Singapore just three decades earlier). However, none of them are as commonly-seen, or give me as much joy as seeing the sunbirds on their quest for nectar. Lately they haven’t been appearing as much due to the lack of torch ginger blossoms at this time of year, so I felt my spirits soar when I spotted this female busily feeding from a young flower.

I’ve sighted two species of sunbird in my garden thus far: the olive-backed and crimson sunbirds. To my surprise, I discovered that this female was neither – judging from the broken eye ring that framed her face she was, in fact, a brown-throated sunbird. Most of them come singly, all the better to take advantage of the huge torch ginger grove that flanks the side of the house. While the torch ginger seems to be their favourite, I have also seen them try to satisfy themselves from chilli flowers, pink powder-puff and clematis blossoms. Thankfully she had found a few newly-opened ginger flowers, and flitted from plant to plant, drinking nectar with a greedy urgency.

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Female brown-throated sunbird on a mature torch ginger flower.

Occassionally she would look up with nervous alarm, darting her head from side to side before she resumed feeding. There would be times of the year where the male sunbirds would advertise themselves from the top of the fence, and dart around the canopy searching for mates. For now, however, she was merely watching out for danger. I watched, transfixed, from within the house, daring not to come too near lest she fly away. At last, her belly filled, she perched on the stem of a woody vine and began to preen herself. In the shade provided by the yam leaves overhead, her translucent flight feathers took on a delicate, greenish gossamer hue.

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Suddenly, a series of sharp chirps cut through the air. She took off and landed on a taller branch, responding with a sharp cry that sounded almost accusatory. By this time I was watching them from behind a window, and craned my neck to look for the source of the sound. It was a male sunbird of the same species. The late afternoon sunlight fell briefly over his blue-and-purple head feathers, catching a faint iridescent gleam. Both birds launched into a verbal joust, calling loudly and flitting from perch from perch in agitation over the right to these stomping grounds. Though their cries might sound pleasant to the human ear, the songs of these birds have a much more pragmatic purpose: to assert themselves and help them fight for their survival.

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The intruder! A male brown-throated sunbird staking his territorial claims.

After what seemed like a long argument, the male took off huffily. Almost instantly, the female flew back to her original perch and resumed preening herself, looking a lot calmer than she had been just seconds earlier. As some clouds briefly passed over the sun and left her in shadow, I stepped out to take a better look. Startled, she flew off, and I didn’t see her again for the rest of the day.

The milieu of the daily lives of animals is no less interesting than the daily lives of humans. I like to think that with their complex array of calls, displays and signals not easily understood by the human species, the animal life is a harder one to piece together and appreciate. Yet, that afternoon I felt like I had caught a glimpse into the window of what it would really be like to be a sunbird – the freedom to fly where one pleases, mingled with a turbulent undercurrent of the need for self-preservation. Such is the beauty and complexity of Mother Nature.

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