He wandered around the backyard for ages, back and forth, round and round, looking lost, though birds can hardly be said to be so. The rain was bucketing down, the most we've seen in months, gutters overflowing, hollows in the lawn filling up as the heavens opened and gave us a thorough soaking after months of heat and parched dry earth.
He'd stop and look up, letting forth with his distinctive call at full throttle. Was he simply complaining about the drenching? I don't think so, as his occasional peck at the ground obviously proffered some juicy tidbits. He walked, he ran, he strutted, calling out constantly, but no answer came. I think his mate had left him high and dry, literally, and gone to shelter somewhere until the deluge passed.
Teeming rain
forlorn currawong
calling for his mate
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