From My Cyberjournal 43 June 2004

It's early days of winter now, too cold to rise and shine for me; but one early morning I was wakened by screeches and squawks outside our bedroom balcony. Curious, I peeped out and saw a gang of white-plumed heads with black beaks looking down on me from the roof. Sulphur crested cockatoos! I dashed off, grabbed my camera and, bare foot and in pyjamas, very quietly stepped out to the balcony. But my movements while taking a few quick shots disturbed them and they flew to the dead tree in our front yard. There were close to two dozen of them. I followed them down to the garden. For one magical instant the dead tree blossomed with white, squawking birds while I watched camera in hand, then they took wing and vanished in the forest.

In the Philippines, this cockatoo, known as "catala", is kept as pets and trained to talk. My mother had one in her last years in the late 70's early 80's. Every visitor would stop in front of the bird in its wire cage and call loudly to it: "Catala! Catala! Hello! Good Morning!" It would just sit cramped in its little cage, oblivious to all the attention. Then as the disappointed visitor walked away it would mumble: "Hello." Back went the visitor excitedly yelling: "Hello!" Hello!" but catala just stayed mute.

Mama died in June of 1982. Enchanted by the surprise of this sudden June visitation of dozens of cockatoos, I sensed Mama whispering hello.