I must go up to the hills again, to the forest green, and the sky,
And all I ask is a pair of ‘bins and a scope to see birds by,
And the crow’s cry and the wind’s song and the white mist’s snaking,
And a cuckoo on the tree branch and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go up to the hills again, for the drongo’s call in the pine
Is a wild call and a clear call that to me is so divine;
And all I ask is a sunny day with the high clouds flying,
Where the swifts fly and the jays fight, and the eagle’s crying.

I must go up to the hills again, to the vagrant birding life,
To the owl’s hole and the hornbill tree where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a birding tale from a fellow bird-lover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long list’s over.

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Ok, so it doesn’t quite scan – I’m no poet! The photo was taken on the way up to Fraser’s. And yes, I wrote while there.