You know, sometimes it’s hard for an internet sage such as your correspondent to actually live by the trite conclusions he appends to each post as a way of signing off before becoming irritatingly verbose. Yes, this is me admitting that no matter how much I go on about not predicting what nature might do, I’m still guilty of trying to predict what nature might do.

This is a post about Kestrels, you may be surprised to know. When I left you last, I’d seen our couple of young honeymooners high up on Gillamatong, chatting to each other and feasting on a tasty spider. In the relief of seeing them still in the area, and watching them carry on this cosy domestic interaction, I hazarded that they must be nesting thereabouts.

Of course, this was wrong. Having written all that, I haven’t seen them there again. And that’s not the worst of it — because I did see them again. And where was that? Well, it was back at the Block of Flats!

Chuntering past there on my bike one evening, I looked up to see the unmistakeable silhouette of a Kestrel high up in the branches. And while I watched, this bird was joined by a second! Muttering disbelieving curses under my breath, I watched as they conferred for a minute or so.

And then one (the female) launched itself nonchalantly into a dive and glided into a hole in the tree!

I’d seen her in this hollow before, sheltering from wind and drizzle, but hadn’t thought it might be a possible nesting spot. And I was right not to jump to conclusions on this later occasion, because — of course — in passing the Block of Flats again in subsequent days, I have seen no sign of this pair.

So what is going on? I have no idea — it’s almost as if these creatures can anticipate my wild speculations and plan their subsequent actions to maximise my frustration.

Yes, of course it’s not about me. Rationally, I know that. But the way these two are carrying on (if indeed, it’s the same pair — let’s not assume that either), it’s suspiciously like they’re working on a plan to confuse any onlooker. Which I suppose is a good way of ensuring their nesting activities (if, indeed, that is what they’re doing) aren’t monitored in such a way as to disrupt the process of conceiving and raising their progeny.

This reminds me of the tortuous process of trying to cast a rational net over the works of my least-fave poet, ee cummings. When his entire output is designed to screw with rational processes and disrupt any attempt to place it within a critical framework, the budding literary critic is frequently compelled to cry (inwardly, at least), “are you f***ing with me?”

Nature, you are indeed a mysterious phenomenon — and long may this remain so. Keeping everyone guessing is one way of ensuring survival — and maintaining their fascination. As Eleanor Roosevelt once said, “If life were predictable it would cease to be life, and be without flavour.”