The first time I looked out of the lounge room window and saw the peacock with his tail aloft, spinnaker style, I shrieked, gathered the Smalls and ran out into the garden to try and capture every possible angle. His neck is an impossible blue running to aquamarine and iridescent green; little toggle antenna feathers on the top of his head make him Seuss-like. He literally shakes his tail feathers and makes come-hither noises to a generally disinterested and relatively drab peahen, who wanders about pecking unconcernedly as he prances and shimmers with colours to get her attention.
I’ve never seen the back end of a prancing peacock – there are fine downy pale feathers and longer, more rib like ones that seem wingish. It’s like seeing backstage of an amazing musical – it’s where the machinery is that makes it all happen. The feather glory is the pinnacle of peacock perfection – the voice of the peacock? There is not a lot to recommend it – it sounds like an emergency alarm crossed with a the plastic hoot of a stepped on toy horn. A design flaw of the otherwise flawless.
Only two nights at the vineyard house this time, but the Smalls were keen. The leaves are thicker on the vines now. The little chick with the racing stripe that I looked after a month ago has disappeared – they think it was a goshawk. This time we didn’t have a fire at night – it was too warm to bother with. Our visit – with only two days notice – was so timely.
By the end of each fortnight money is so tight that the last two days (Sat/Sun) are spent working on our own stuff, because going to markets for tasty treats is not an option. At the vineyard we went NOWHERE and were perfectly occupied – I did a zillion loads of washing, the Smalls walked the dogs and looked after the rats and the bunny.
The bunny, this time, did not escape. For which I was thankful. It was a lovely couple of days that came at a very opportune time. Thank you again, our excellent new friends.