Mum and Dad were still working all hours that daylight allowed, ferrying food endlessly to their insatiable, increasingly boisterous brood.

In between feed time is snooze time (after all, it's exhausting work being "spoon-fed" all day long.)

Mum (or is it Dad?) brings a juicy dragon fly for one of the lucky chicks. Bullying wins in this business - the most assertive chick gets the first grab.

Talking of being assertive, one of the chicks decides the nest is not big enough for both, and scrabbles out onto a rafter. The other chick, responding to instinct that any bird by the nest is there with food, starts begging from its sibling.

Stretching brand new wings in hopeful preparation for a maiden flight in a day or so...

Not to forget the importance of preening in preparation for meeting the outside world...

Oblivious to the events about to unfold (as indeed we all were), a male Agama Lizard watches me as I balance precariously on my windowsill to get the best view of the nest and its inhabitants.

My grandmother, who was born on Friday 13th and lived well into her nineties, always maintained it was a lucky day...but not so for the Morning Warblers. Friday morning, on checking the nest, I found it empty and one little chick sitting below, somewhat dazed.

My first thought was that the chicks had flown the nest and this one, in an attempt to flutter to a nearby tree, had crash-landed. Then, when looking around for the other chick, which by now should have been reunited with its parents in the nearby bushes and being fed there, I noticed that the parent birds - beaks full of food - were frantically looking for their offspring.

This did not bode well. Where was the second chick? And why was the first chick on the floor when it was not quite yet ready to fly? Knowing the chick stood no chance of survival if left there, I popped it back up onto a rafter right next to its nest, where the parents found it a few minutes later and started to feed it again. (The photos were taken through the [supposedly] insect-proof netting across the entrance to our open-air bathroom.)

Delighted that at least one chick was reunited with its parents, which seemed some compensation for the mysterious disappearance of the other, I left the birds to it, not wanting to add any further upset to their already stressful morning. However, I did keep wondering about that second chick. What had become of it? I knew that both chicks had been in the nest first thing in the morning but by 8.30am, something strange had happened to cause one chick to fall out the nest and the other to disappear. Genets (likely culprits by night) sleep by day. Even if one had uncharacteristically raided the nest in daylight hours, it would have taken both chicks. If the missing chick had fluttered off into a bush of its own accord, the parents would have found it by now, guided by its calls. All very strange...but at least one little chick was safe.

Or so I thought until I was making lunch and outside on the windowsill appeared a Grey Hornbill. In its bill was a fluffy feathered ball - a Morning Warbler chick  - the second one. The nest was empty again, this time permanently, and the mystery was solved - the "grim reaper" had come first for one chick and then for the second.

Friday 13th was a good day for a hungry hornbill but a twin tragedy for the Morning Warblers. Nature truly is a cruel master - creator of incredible beauty but savage and uncompromising too.

The hard-working parent birds continued bringing food and searching for their missing chicks for several hours. They had beaten the odds for so long, defied the genets and then succumbed at the final hurdle, just a day or so before their chicks were ready to fly. Perhaps somewhere a hornbill chick will live to see another day, thanks to the hard-working Morning Warblers. That's generally how it works, unfair as it may seem and hard as it may be to accept sometimes.

For those of you who follow the Kulafumbi Facebook page, you'll remember that on 18th March, I posted a photo of the Spotted Morning Warbler sitting on its mud-cup nest under the eaves outside our bedroom (above).

On Sunday, I decided to have a quick peek from a safe distance (so as not to disturb the proceedings) and - lo and behold - look what we have here!

How appropriate, a couple of chicks for Easter! And while it would be possible to take the Easter connotations to ridiculous extremes and say they've even got yellow mouths for the occasion, what is far more likely is that nature has designed the chicks' mouths to be bright yellow to make a clear target for the adults when they're bringing food...

Next time the dentist says 'Open wide', see if you can match this! This little chick obviously wants to give itself the best possible chance of being the successful recipient of the next mouthful of food brought by its parents.

Who's a not-so-pretty boy (or girl) then? (Don't worry, I'm sure your mum thinks you're cute!)

Although it's a little difficult to make out, this photo gives you a better idea of the nest's setting, under the eaves near the centre of the picture. Even harder to see is that one of the adult birds has just landed near the nest, in the triangle formed by the posts in the top left corner of the image. (You'll have to take my word for it.)

When the adult hops down to the nest, it's straight in with the food without a moment's delay!

Followed by a spot of house-cleaning. Honestly, these kids never tidy their own room...

The Spotted Morning Warbler's russet-coloured eye is mirrored by its russet tail. These birds are the most versatile songsters of the African bushland and also great imitators of other birds. At dawn, it is often their song which is the first to ring out and announce the new day.

Both parents feed the chicks in an endless relay throughout the day, bringing new fodder to the nest every few minutes. A ritual of hopping from one branch to the next for a while to check all is safe and to confuse any predators is followed by a swift flutter up to the nest, an even swifter feeding and then off again to find the next morsel.

For birds living by the river like this pair, it must be difficult enough in the dry season to find enough insects to sustain their demanding brood. They must be expectantly waiting each day for the rains to break as they bring in beakful after beakful of moths, ants and other soft, easily edible bugs. But spare a thought for the pairs nesting out in the dry hinterland - how much tougher must their job be?

All that hard work by Mum and Dad is having effects at the other end too! I didn't realise this at the time, but when I looked at my photos, I noticed this chick was going to the toilet, neatly dropping its offering outside the nest (and into our bath, thank you very much.)

A lot of hard work and many moths went into this creation!

Here's Mum (or Dad) again with the next meal.

You wouldn't have thought it was less than five minutes since their last meal!

Out of curiosity, that night I had a quick look to see whether one of the parents sat on the nest at night, and sure enough, there was one of the adults snuggled in the nest, keeping their offspring warm and safe...

These shots were all taken with my 400mm lens, which allowed me to stand well back from the nest so as not to disturb or frighten the birds, and I was careful at night to only take one shot of the nest in the dark, in case my flash upset them.

But now to the real story: Water Monitor Lizards are the biggest lizards we get here in Kenya, larger and more brightly coloured than their dry-country-dwelling cousins. We seem to get a lot of these old reptiles around here – they’ve even learned to come and steal the bird food by our birdbath and seem to enjoy the cool of our lawn during the heat of the day.

As their name suggests, water monitors are as comfortable in the water as they are on land. I’m amazed they don’t seem more nervous of crocodiles, which would surely crunch them up at the slightest opportunity, but perhaps I am not giving the monitors enough credit for their own alertness and savoir-faire.

This large monitor is obviously on the hunt for frogs, lizards, crustaceans and anything else he can find along the river’s shoreline. A plover’s egg or two wouldn’t go amiss either.

With concentrated patience, he investigates every nook and cranny.

Then, still empty handed, he heads across the dry sand to a small residual pool in the sandbank.

Lithely, he slips into the pool, leaving behind his trademark track in the sand.

As he starts his frog-search again, he attracts the attention of a curious emerald-spotted wood dove.

And very soon a crowd appears. (Some things are the same all over the world!)

Mutual curiosity ties lizard and bird together.

Eventually, the lizard makes a half-hearted move towards the dove but he seems to know that he’d be extremely lucky to catch it. Needless to say, the instant the monitor makes his move, the dove flies off in a flash.

The monitor leaves the water to try his luck in the dry scrub inland. With his dappled skin, he’s incredibly well camouflaged.

Despite his many indisputable positive traits, you’ve got to admit there’s something of the Grim Reaper about him, endlessly relentless in his slow, deliberate pursuit of his next victim (or in this case, on his way up the hill to scrounge the bird food!).

>>> More Tsavo Snapshots on the Kulafumbi Facebook page - click here. <<<

If you're a Gymnogene (African Harrier-Hawk), landing on the plovers' patch can give you a headache. We often see a Gymnogene on the river, hopping from island to island in search of frogs. The plovers are never amused...

The Gymnogene lands right on the island where the plovers choose to nest (time and again, despite repeated disasters and no successes).

The plovers are none too pleased, and even when the gymnogene moves off to the far end of the island, their assault only intensifies.

Even hopping right off the island to a neighbouring sandbank has no effect.

The gymnogene takes flight, but even before it lands on further downstream, the plovers are after it again.

It's no use - it takes to the wing again.

Those long legs are ideal for catching frogs and pulling chicks out of birds' nests...but they don't save the gymnogene from the relentless pursuit of the plovers.

As the gymnogene alights on yet another rock island, a pied wagtail hightails it.

But the pesky plover still does not give up.

The gymogene gives in and moves several hundred metres downstream to find peace at last. (In the picture below, you can just see it on the rocks in the forground, as it prepares to carry on hopping from one rock to the next, in search of those elusive unlucky frogs). And the plovers? Well, they just return to "their" rock and wait for their next victim...

CLICK HERE for more 'Plover Trouble' photos on the Kulafumbi Facebook page...with saddle-billed storks, crocodiles, dikkops and more...

This year, the perfect day was 10th April, and this array of incredible flowers is just a smattering of what Ian and I found on a four-hour flower drive. (Ian also found endless supplies of patience as I asked him to stop the car every few meters for a new sighting, and I thank him for that!)

I'm not going to get too caught up on classification here, for this is just meant to be a visual feast, but every now and then I'll make a comment or two. For interest's sake, I'm going to note the approximate sizes of each blossom, for without anything to give the flowers perspective, it is difficult to know how big or small they are. This also will give you an idea of the flowers' incredible variety - not just in colour and shape, but in size too. I apologize for the excessive length of this exposé, but I wanted to really impart the magnificence of the post-rain days in Kenya's dry country, when the grey-brown bushland turns into this incredible garden of flowers....a short sojourn before the starkness of the grey-brown beauty takes over again.

In no particular order, therefore, I give you a few flowers from just one day in Tsavo:

All above: The prolific Commelina...but benghalensis or petersii? Never mind, their fragile beauty is staggering. Each flower measures just 20-25mm across.

The equally prolific Ipomoea mombassana (above and below), 50-55mm across - the creeper that coats the dry earth and allows other plants to take root in its welcome shade.

10-20mm across, these small flowers above are Hibiscus (but micranthus or pycnostemon?) of the family Malvaceae. By evening, the flowers have turned pink (below) and by daybreak the following morning, they will have withered and fallen from the stem.

This tiny, tiny shrub was hiding its beautiful flowers in amongst the grass. Each flower head is only 10mm across, but what an extraordinary colour!

One of the Malvaceae family too, I think (my guess is it's a Pavonia), this 25-30mm wide flower's petals obviously taste good to this green-headed bug (munching away in big close up, below).

The same type of bug also seems to have a penchant for Anthericopsis sepalosa flowers, each just 25mm across (above and below).

Tiny red Indigofera flowers (above), each just a few millimetres in size.

Grewia lilacina flowers are irresistibly photogenic. While the bush is two metres high, each flower is just 18-20mm in size and very popular with bees of every size and description, including this small, turquoise-eyed variety.

This tiny grasshopper, just 10mm long, was also keen on the Grewia.

Like clusters of blue cushions, these flowers are utterly delightful. They are pentanisia ouranogyne, of the Rubiaceae family and each individual flower measures 12-15mm across.

Indigofera schimperi, above, each individual flower just millimetres across, making up a gorgeous pink-red candle.

I know I once discovered what these hairy white-flowered creepers are called, but for the life of me, I cannot remember their name... Anyway, they're about 20-25mm across and very furry!

Who would have thought that the Erythroclamys spectabilis that covers large swathes of bushland with purple after the rains (above) actually boasts such intricate detail on its tiny flowers (below), each less than 10mm in size.

The prickly blue Blepharis linariifolia, above, each petal about 30mm long.

Ravaged by insects but still ravishing, above,  the giant Hibiscus calyphyllus, each flower measuring at least 100mm across. It's amazing to think that this large flower is a close relative of the tiny white Hibiscus shown near the top of this flower listing.

More and more Hibiscus calyphyllus...as beautiful in big close up as they are when viewed dotted in amongst the lush surrounding vegetation, dwarfing the other flowers.

This one, above, is a Hibiscus trionum, 30-40mm across and as beautiful as its larger cousin.

Pavonias are closely related to Hibiscus - both belong to the Malvaceae family (along with Abutilon too - including Abutilon mauritianum, which I have discussed in this journal many times under our nickname "Four o'clock flowers"). This remarkable looking specimen is Pavonia glechomifolia, 30-40mm wide and with lovely leaves too (above and below).

Another Pavonia (possibly propinqua?) has a softer pastel tone to its 25mm wide flowers.

The Gutenbergia and Vernonia species are closely related...and I have not a clue which one these startling pollen-dusted purple flowers belong to (above and below). Each flower head is less than 10mm in size.

Clitoria ternatea - these 35mm flowers hang from creepers that decorate the bushland with their delicate blue and yellow colours, above.

The 40-50mm flowers of Astripomoea hyosycamoides look almost identical to Ipomoea, but these flowers belong to an upright shrub, while the Ipomoea is a creeper.

Tiny, blue and pretty, Ecbolium revolutum (aka e. hamatum) can easily be missed because each flower is only 10-20mm in size.

Ruellia patula, seen above and below in pastel purple, are found in several different shades of blue and white. The flowers are 20mm across.

A tiny white flower with no name (that I know of, anyway)...just 10-12mm across and rather square and angular in shape (above).

The 25mm long bracts of Dalechampia scandens at first glance make it look like a green flower, but in fact the flowers are contained within the green leaf-like appendages (above and below).

Like a helicopter when seen from above, these tiny, exceedingly delicate flowers (each one just 15mm long) belong to the Becium species, I believe.

I don't even know where to start in attempting to identify this tiny flower, in total less than 10mm across (above and below). The strange pale orange colour of the petals contrasts sharply with the bright lilac stamens...a beautiful creation without a name...

The same flower, seen from a different angle, below.

It's that Pavonia again, but this time highlighting the beauty of its "sugar-dusted" leaves - the tiny hairs shining in the bright sunlight.

Caked in mud and looking innocuous, this plant I believe belongs to the Ocimum species (possibly o. kilimandscharicum?) and each of its tiny white flowers (below) are only 5mm long.

Solanum incanum, the Sodom Apple, its flowers each 25mm long and a little muddied after the rain, above.

Possibly a species of Sphaeranthus, this tidy compact flower head is less than 10mm in size.

A festival of pink...even more Hibiscus (this one known as species D)...I have included several images, because their beauty is almost beyond comprehension...

Green flowers, 30mm wide, of the Acanthaceae family: Ecbolium amplexicaule (above and below).

Barleria argentea, just 15-20mm in size, above, yet with such delicate markings on the throat.

Above, a tiny, tiny, tiny mauve flower, less than 5mm wide, and (for me anyway) still nameless.

And the final hurrah, the curling inflorescence of Heliotropium steudneri, each individual flower just 5mm in size.

And that's quite enough for one day...

Symbiotic mutualism occurs when two organisms of different species (be they plant or animal, bacteria or any other living thing) live in close proximity and perform functions for each other in a mutually beneficial way (as opposed to commensualism, which is a relationship between two organisms where only one party benefits but without harming the other party - eg egrets following buffalo herds to forage for insects disturbed by the grazing bovines; as opposed to parasitism where one party benefits at the expense of the other - eg ticks on a giraffe; as opposed to competition where both organisms in the relationship are harmed.)

So much for the introduction, now to the meat of my story, which I have to admit is open to discussion and awaiting comments from someone more knowledgeable than me in these matters.

In Tsavo West over the weekend, I was photographing the sodom apples (solanum incanum) growing on the kopjes. I'll be honest with you, to begin with, I was only interested in the plump, round shapes of these cadmium yellow, toxic fruit which appeal to my love of form and colour.

But then I noticed that some of the fruit were attracting an inordinate number of ants, which all seemed very busily occupied. As one does, I took a closer look and I saw these tiny jelly-baby-like eggs in strange pink, orange, white and red hues on the fruit stems and nearby a few minute orange insects. Bear in mind that the black ants were only 4-5mm long, and these orange insects were but a fraction of that - perhaps a millimeter long, at the most.

I jumped to the conclusion (and I stand to be corrected, please, if anyone can shed any more light on this) that the tiny insects are aphids - there are more than 4,400 different species of aphid in the world, some of which feed only on one type of plant - and I therefore put two and two together and assumed the jelly baby eggs must be theirs. The next step in my deliberations therefore was to question what the ants were doing, and I surmised that here was an example of ant mutualism with aphids - whereby the ants are "farming" the aphids, protecting them and their eggs from predators. In turn, the ants feed off the honeydew secreted by the aphids. These so-called "dairying" ants "milk" the aphids for honeydew by stroking them with their antennae.

[Important Note: After posting this article, I asked entomologist Dino Martins to comment and put me right on the detail of what is going on here. So please take my suppositions with a pinch of salt and concentrate more on Dino's explanation of what is going on here, which he has kindly written in the comments section below.]

Is this ant busy "farming" and tending its charges? [Yes, I got that much right, at least!]

Do we see an ant stroking an aphid? [No, a nymph.]

What's with the different colour eggs? Are they at different stages of development? [See Dino's notes in the comments section]

As an aside, check out the hairs on the top ant's abdomen. (Remember these ants are only 4-5mm long and yet what incredibly complex creatures they are!)

There's a whole lot of stroking going on...

An aphid [nymph actually] getting a whole lot of attention...

A tiny nymph, next to a 4mm-long ant.

It's not just the ripe fruit attracting the insects.

So, what planet did you rock up from?

As you can tell from my fatuous commentary, I really am no expert in this field at all and I would welcome any more learned opinions on what is happening in this series of photos from my ant-aphid exploration day. [See Dino Martin's more indepth commentary in the comments section below].

One thing that I can tell you for sure is that hand-holding a macro lens on a sunless, windy Tsavo West day and trying to get an ant in focus, let alone an aphid, is no mean feat!

Imagine a kopje in Tsavo West, for instance...it's a pile of rocks with an odd assortment of plants growing in, on and around it. You might walk or drive past and think nothing more of it. But a kopje hides a million marvels, and if you take the time to look, you will see them...

Take, for example, this spiky succulent. Its unfriendly exterior may dissuade you from taking a closer look, but I suggest you do...

For a closer look reveals extraordinary detail, colour and yes, even beauty:

This boulder may look fairly ordinary, but if you stop to think for a moment, you realise it's really quite amazing that small plants are growing in a crack in the rock:

They seem to be thriving there, probably helped by water that is trapped each time it rains.

And they're flowering. Each flower, mind you, is only 3mm wide. The purple colouring is probably to attract pollinators like small insects:

Without further ado, you bypass some dull green moss growing at the base of a rock:

But second thoughts take you back and you subject the moss to inquisition under the macro lens and a whole new world is revealed:

Nearby, a strange fungus finds purchase under a rock overhang:

Atop the kopje grows this spindly tree - I believe it's a species of Pavetta (of the Rubiaceae family). It's flowering and its waxy white flower clusters are attracting a profusion of insects of all shapes and sizes.

Like some creature from science fiction, this 3cm long wasp has mouth-parts perfectly adapted for feeding on nectar. Its wings are the most irridescent blue, even in the dull overcast light.

A tiny spotted butterfly, wingspan no more than 12-15mm, is also in its element here. I'm no expert on butterflies, so I stand to be corrected, but I think this is one of the Pies (Genus Tuxentius).

A green leaf weavil (one of the hundreds of species in the Polydrusus genus) is 5mm long, but nature has spared no effort in making it quite stunning to look at:

Even for the most unobservant passer-by, it would be difficult to miss the electric pink of a desert rose (Adenium obesum), flamboyant amongst the rocks and greenery:

The flowers are so bright, they almost seem out of place, as if this plant does not belong here, but it is indeed indigenous:

And the closer you look, the more astounded you are by this large glowing flower.

Along the rock from the desert rose is a small yellow flower, 15mm in diameter.

A closer look reveals the extraordinary detail and structure, not just of the blossom but of the stalk and the buds too.

As you leave in search of other flowers, you brush past a green bush and something white catches your eye. It's a small cluster of egg casings, each one just 3mm long. It looks like insects of some sort (I guess) recently hatched out of these, pushing off the cap ends as they did so:

Moving away from the kopje and down into the bushland, more surprises await. Even though the rains passed this way a while ago and the main bloom of flowers has been and gone for this season, a few stalwarts remain, like this large yellow flower, 5-6cm in diameter, growing on the Ngulia escarpment. It's a Tylosium fassoglense, for those of you concerned with that kind of detail:

 Beware what you blithely dismiss as a weed and pass by daily taking no heed. This small shrub, for example, grows all over the place and one rarely stops to give it the time of day:

But today I stop to look closer, and realise that the tiny white flowers, each one maybe only 2mm across, are really worth looking at:

And when put under the macro lens, I vow never to call this plant a mere weed ever again:

This ubiquitous yellow creeper appears everywhere after the rains:

But seldom does one stop to notice the glorious detail of the flower and its pretty purple centre:

Another plant that grows everywhere and is conveniently labelled a "weed" is this at first rather dull looking plant. Personally, I like the circular pattern created by its leaves:

So I decide to look a little closer...and I realise that those purple "clumps" on the weed are actually a dense collection of tiny intricate flowers...

Once again, the scrutiny of the macro lens just makes you gasp with wonder...

Nearby, a small white-flowered plant is so innocuous, you hardly notice it...

but yet again (at the risk of repeating myself ad nauseam), the tiny 3mm-wide flowers surprise you with their tiny purple spears:

Tribulus terrestris flowers coat the bare earth like stars:

Each 6-8mm wide flower is perfect:

Another easily bypassed yellow flower is this variety of Melhania (possibly M. ovata?):

A closer look reveals a perfectly symmetrical yellow gem:

An even closer look reveals a soil-encased caterpillar busily feeding on the Melhania leaves:

I have too many thorns in my shoes after photographing flowers! Serves me right probably, as to be honest, I should not be wandering around the bush in flip-flops anyway, but should be clad in more sensible shoes:

And to end on a totally different note and give ourselves a break from all these minuteae, here are a few big close ups of Tsavo West's larger fauna:

Burchell's Zebra

Masai Giraffe

Yellow Baboon

Impala

Warthog

Ian and I spent last weekend in Tsavo West, with half a hope of seeing some Black Rhinos in the Ngulia Rhino Sanctuary (which holds sixty rhinos), but with the recent rain meaning the rhinos were not bound to use their regular watering holes, it was like looking for a needle in a haystack. The region around Ngulia is real rhino country – thick plant-diverse bushland - and sometimes it's hard to see further than twenty yards off the road:

Once upon a time before poaching took such a toll on this beautiful land, many rhinos roamed free in this part of the world. Nowadays you have to be very lucky to see one. In the end, despite much silent waiting at waterholes at dawn and dusk, we did not see a rhino this time, though happily we saw plenty of evidence of them everywhere:

Plenty of other equally unique animals, birds and plants more than made up for our lack of rhino sightings. We started with a grey-day lone buffalo bull, taking it easy by a waterhole with oxpeckers on his back:

 An equally grey day Tawny Eagle on its nest:

Tsavo West’s thick bush country is not only ideal for rhinos, but also for other browsing species like Lesser Kudu. At first glance, this looks like a wide empty expanse of bush:

 But take a closer look, and a male Kudu is revealed browsing on some green shoots:

The early mornings provide picture-perfect moments, as the sun gently highlights the eastern edge of the baobab trees:

A bush breakfast consists of toast fired in the open air (by my husband, no less!):

While we breakfast, a flawless male Lesser Kudu emerges cautiously from the bushland:

And the birds reveal themselves in dizzying variety, colour, shape and size:

A tiny male Pygmy Batis  Fischers Starling

Vulturine Guineafowl

The Black-capped Social Weavers are breeding in great profusion in the isolated acacia tortilis trees that punctuate the bushland:

This makes for irresistible pickings for the Gabar Goshawks which tear apart the nests from the top to get at the helpless quarry within:

An immature Pale Chanting Goshawk chooses to hunt lizards along the edge of the road:

Zebra and Giraffe congregate around the waterholes as the day heats up:

While the Grey-headed Sparrows get busy feeding on grass seeds:

Turning our attention for a moment to flowers, I think this is Commelina petersii - darker blue than the Commelina flowers we get at Kulafumbi:

An impala ram is majesty personified:

Warthogs enjoy a good scratch after their midday mud bath:

Tsavo West traffic jam, caused by a male Masai Ostrich hogging the road:

The afternoon falls gently over Tsavo West:

Evenings can hardly be said to be stressful, the only chore being stoking up the fire, before settling down to enjoy the encroaching night:

Fading sun rays on Mount Kilimanjaro to the west:

Very last light over Tsavo:

And so to the final act of the day: the unfurling of the large white Ipomoea longituba blossoms, which only flower at night, awaiting the nocturnal hawk moths' pollination services...

When I checked the nest the day before yesterday, I could see the eagles had been lining their nest with fresh green leaves, but the birds themselves were nowhere to be seen:

This morning, the male was sitting on the nest. I did not go as close as I usually do, as I did not want to disturb him on the nest - even though this pair have raised many a chick with cars driving backwards and forwards below their nest:

The female was keeping an eye on everything from the mating tree:

[See the Bateleurs mating in my previous post.]

Other birds seem to be in the breeding mood too, possibly prompted by a recent smattering of rain. It's almost as if the rains might come back again, the weather has been so strange. It was enough to get the White-browed Sparrow Weavers building again:

And one of the resident Egyptian Goose pair has vanished from the river. A lone goose normally means the other one is on the nest, so perhaps we will have goslings on the river again before long. It's been a while since they successfully managed to raise a brood here:

The Spur-winged Plovers are up to their same old tricks again - chasing everything that moves (except - wisely perhaps - the crocodile). The Dikkops pose no threat to the Plovers whatsoever, but that makes no difference to these most bullying of birds:

The Yellow-billed Stork, as usual, remains haughtily aloof from all the shenanigans:

Some birds have already nested, like the Northern White Crowned Shrikes...whose immature offspring, confusingly, have a brown crown:

And as I started this post with rather a large bird of prey, I'm going to end it with a rather small one. This delightful Pearl-spotted Owlette lives around our house and is getting quite tame...today it seemed more bothered with something higher up in the tree than it did with me and my camera:

I’ve taken to spending an hour out and about with my camera every day in the morning before work. It’s a great time to catch the wild animals on the move before they seek shade during the ensuing hot hours, and seems to be by far the most active time of day for the birds, many of whom you can see out in the open enjoying the morning sun after the chill of the night. So we go off on our daily forage, my camera and I, in search of anything and everything...

Yesterday morning, along one of the pretty sand luggas (dry streams, which flash flood during the rains), I heard the familiar screech of Orange-bellied Parrots. These birds can be the most frustrating birds to photograph, for they are curious and shy in equal measure…they always seem to be just beyond the trees, watching you and making a lot of noise so you know they’re just there, but never quite clear or close enough to get a good shot. Add to that their fantastically fast flying ability, making them almost impossible to photograph on the wing – a flash of orange and green, a gloating screech and – yet again - they are gone amongst the trees.

So, to a backdrop of parrot chat, I stopped the car in what I thought was a strategic spot, and I waited for the parrots to come to me. (Trying to photograph birds by driving around is hopeless for, by the time you have seen a bird and stopped the car, it is already long gone. Far better to choose a spot which is popular with the birds you’re trying to photograph, park up and wait quietly for them to come out to you.)

And so I waited…and waited... and, needless to say, despite the endless screeching just beyond the line of trees, no parrots appeared. Not to worry – instead, out of the bushland appeared a rowdy flock of White-bellied Go-away Birds, whose name belies their friendly nature. These large, chatty birds are the photographer’s friend: decorative and bold in equal measure, with a good dose of curiosity thrown in, which means they’re always keen to come over to you to see what you’re doing in their neck of the woods. So, in place of snapping parrots, I spent an enjoyable half hour with the Go-Away Birds, as they noisily sunbathed, preened, hopped and flew between the trees, before eventually deciding en masse that it was time to move on and they took off across the bushland:

(Female with pea-green beak in front; male with dark grey beak behind.)

A quick snack on a ripening commiphora berry.

And away they go...

Late yesterday evening, a pack of 14 wild dogs were seen just a couple of kilometres from Kulafumbi, so this morning at first light I was up and out again, looking for these elusive creatures but – you guessed it – there was no sign of them anywhere. I know these dogs can be in the area one day and gone far away the next, moving great distances, but you’ve got to try your luck, haven’t you? So, no dogs and a very grey overcast morning, but guess who I bumped into en route? None other than a camera-friendly flock of parrots…shame about the lack of sun, but you can’t have it all. Here’s a rather handsome male Orange-bellied Parrot:

It was also a good morning for Lesser Kudu, that most elegant, most beautiful antelope of the bushland. My first sighting was of a gorgeous male, about 300 yards from our house:

To follow, came a group of lovely does and youngsters on the edge of the dry Mtito River (site of yesterday’s wild dog sighting):

It’s no wonder you can drive past Kudu and miss them in the bushland more times that you see them – look how well these two blend into their background:

Mt Kilimanjaro was briefly visible, sandwiched between two thick banks of cloud, and catching a few rays of sun on its snow-scarce summit:

Because of the dull weather, I thought I would give the Bateleur Eagles a miss today, although I still planned to bypass their nest on my wild dog quest. As I approached their nest tree, I noticed the pair off to my right, in another tree about 200 yards from the nest. For good measure, seeing the pair of them together, I thought I’d take a quick shot after all. Then the male (seen here on the left) started grooming the female, whose bowed head shows how much she enjoys (and expects) such treatment.

The male then started calling to the female and all of a sudden jumped on her back and the pair started mating. Well, with this kind of action presenting itself to me so unexpectedly, no-one can blame me for saying “so what with the weather and no matter that there are a few twigs and branches in the way obscuring my lens-view, I’m going to click away while the fun lasts!”

(Note the nictitating membrane we were talking about yesterday protecting the female's eyes as the male hops on board.)

It struck me as rather amusing (and typical too, one might say) that after it was all over, the male immediately forgot his avid interest in the female and proceeded to preen himself, while the female, after a good shake to get everything back in place, had no option but to see to her own feathers too…