Spring homecoming after Rift Valley adventures in Ethopia

To have come home for these spring days is as great a joy for us, writes Damien Enright

HOME again, in West Cork. While the sons have flown the nest, our feathered friend, the fledgling heron we saved from certain death six years ago, decidedly hasn’t, and knocks at our windows three times daily begging for food for his offspring.

He is a mess. The beautiful black and white feathers that veiled his breast in the courting season are greasy-black and balding. This is from sitting on chicks. I’d prefer not to think of the state of the nest. The parents fishy regurgitations can’t always hit the mark, nor can all the defecations of the young be accurately disposed of over the nest side.