The blackbirds ransacked the Rowan trees. Next day, rowan berries appeared placed on the terrace, a line-up of a dozen or so. Missed taking a shot.
Were the berries carried there by the blackbirds? Flying from the tree behind the chalet over the roof to the terrace in front? One bead per beak per bird at a time? A treasure trove for a banquet? And then the berries were gone.
I never managed to witness the goings-on, however often I peeked outside.
But I have one shot of a berry lost on the terrace, and one of a blackbird with a berry stuck in its beak — which is another story, still haunting me. I’ll tell it next time, when I’ve caught my breath.