Kaka country

Having observed some kaka acrobatics on next door's telephone lines late last year, of late the hefty avian gymnasts have been even more prevalent in my neck of the woods. They enjoy a traditional kaka combination of swooping and squawking around the valley at dusk, chasing each other in and out of the trees. But of late some berries must have fruited on the tree next door at number 44, because twice this week I've come home to find the tree weighed down with a gaggle of kakas, all rifling through the flowers and hanging on to the slender branches for dear life. The birds weigh quite a bit, and half a dozen of them cause the tree to swing about disconcertingly. Yesterday one of them even flew over to investigate the rose camellia bush at the end of my deck, before flapping off in search of a richer meal elsewhere. Perhaps he may have been musing as he flew on his long-distant ancestors who predated both modern kakas and keas.  But probably not.