There’s a blackbird feeding from the bird table. Below lie scraps carelessly scattered by the greedy starlings. Immediately, I think I would rather see a blackbird feeding there than a starling – they sing a prettier tune, then, on reflection, I think of the times I’ve seen a starling trapped in a sunbeam, a more magical sight is hard to imagine, a real moment to treasure as his drabness is magically transformed into a coat of many colours suffused with a myriad hues.
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