Sometimes birds get into the farmhouse in mysterious ways. Down through the chimney, perhaps. They flap round the house for a while, clumsily knocking books and chachkas off tall shelves, leaving scattered droppings as they go. We walked into the farmhouse long after this bird had done its damage and, sadly, died somewhere near the back door. Stephen prepared the burial plot for our fine, feathered friend.
Taken on my Nikon FM10.
