I adore the wild parrots in Miami. Rumor has it they escaped from Parrot
jungle over a decade ago as a result of hurricane Andrew. However they got
here, they certainly have adapted themselves. They flicker through the
trees, and across the pink and blue skies like tiny flames of color. I
have missed the chickens from up north, and enjoyed the local peacocks
on the campus, but parrots speak to me in another way. Every evening I
try to settle down on the balcony before I know it is time for the
the evening fly. Large flocks swoop over the pool, landing in the palm
trees in small crashes, and then re- launch towards the parking garages
to sleep the night away. Their squoack is a harsh sound for such a
colorful creature, and you can anticipate their arrival by the crazy
jabbering. In fact- a flock of parrots is called a "pandemonium".
One little parrot sits in the carambola tree. It reminds me of my friend Barbara's 28 year old bird named Jocko. He nuzzles against her hand through the bars of his cage, eyes closed and almost snoring with pleasure as she scratches his head. I will give her this painting. A watercolor.
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