. . . one or the other drove me out into the searing hot weather this afternoon in search of some old critter friends. Neither one will do it again, not in these parts.
With over a month having lapsed since I last walked through the sad-sack strip of “park” land near where I live, I had some obviously unfounded hope that some old critter friends might have returned. It was just the opposite. A few of the remaining ones have disappeared.
Instead of several, a single lone Collared Kingfisher raised an objection when I strolled near “his” turf. Bulbuls were not to be seen, mynas were far fewer in number. And the promenade, most of its length populated by sunbirds a year ago, was quiet—except for boom boxes blasting from passing bicycles.
Even small birds were hard to find, though with the extreme reach of the Oly gear I managed to get a distant shot of one. Even dragonflies were few in number, and seemed afraid. Seeing how quickly green is turning to grey in these parts, I can’t say as I blame them.
Harsh reality tells me that the birding gear will probably be sitting idle in the dry cabinet until I can travel again.