Susan Pryke Writing and Communiciation Management

A flock of lorikeets have arrived in the trees outside my window. They dive to the bottlebrush blooms like kids to a freshly cut watermelon. Never still, they tumble over the flowers, their tangerine cheeks as bright as pom poms.

They whistle and squeak with such intensity that the branches vibrate. Then suddenly, inexplicably, they fly off.

In their absence the silence seems more silent. Like a street after the parade has gone.