I woke feeling despondent. Today is the anniversary of my soul mate cousin Patricia's death.
6 months ago the family gathered in Cape Town to celebrate her life which she had lived to the full. It was indeed an amazing time together.
Nevertheless today was going to be a sad time remembering her and missing her terribly.
My thoughtful husband, hereafter referred to as 'Himself' decided to make a breakfast to cheer me up. I could hear him clattering around downstairs as I took my time and eventually joined him and offered to make the toast.
"Don't get a fright but look and see who is at the door. I reckon he has come for breakfast," Himself said quietly. We open the French doors to the veranda early to let the warmth of the winter sun in to warm the house.
And there he was, solemn as a judge and wearing his black suit with his creamy white bobble cap and polo neck, looking at us from the doorway.
own picture
He is a Woolly necked Stork. His partner who is identical in looks was hovering in the garden on the edge of the lagoon stretching her wings widely. She shuffled a few steps and looked as though she was dancing. They are ridiculously unphased by humans and indeed they come for a breakfast treat regularly.
The fact that we hadn't seen them for a few weeks made their visit very welcome.
A couple of pieces of streaky bacon lightly cooked, though raw is probably fine too, were arranged on the sides of our plates of lavish mushroom and cheese omelettes.
I set the table as they stood by like butlers in their formal suits of black and white tolerating our activity with no fuss.
Two tiny Willy Wagtails, THE chirpiest and also very tame birds darted around between their feet and we had to get some grated cheddar cheese for their share of the feast.
At last we were all settled. The humans said grace, thanking the Lord for the fabulous food and the excellent company we were blessed with.
For a little joke I tossed the closest Woolly necked Stork a piece of my omelette. He graciously caught it midair and discarded it at once. It hadn't touched his lips, I mean his beak, for even a second. He sensed immediately that it wasn't his kind of food.
Himself tossed a piece of bacon high into the air and his long beak followed its trajectory and he deftly caught it. That went down his long throat without hesitation. Do they I wonder, actually taste their food? It's gone in a trice with seemingly no visible enjoyment.
I threw a piece to Mrs W N Stork and she gulped it down in the same 'fast as a flash' manner.
The Willy Wags pierced the air with their super sonic calls and pecked at the curls of cheese.
As we tucked into our scrumptious breakfast I realised that I felt distinctly better.
My mood had lifted and I looked forward to being able to reminisce fondly with my niece and sister later that day on the phone.
Not a day of regret and mourning but one of sweet stories retold once again honouring the memory of someone truly loved.