TWENTY TOUCANS.
The word ‘ revoada’ [ rre·vo· a ·duh ] forms in my mouth at the sight of 20 or more black-billed toucans gathering in a tree at the foot of our garden. It’s what happens when your brain has several – I have 3: English, Portuguese, and Danish – languages at its disposal. It picks the best word for you. In this case, the Portuguese word is just more evocative than the simpler ‘flock’ in English and similar ‘ flok ’ in Danish. . It is the morning of Easter Sunday and Victor and I have leapt out of our seats on the veranda when we become aware of so many toucans landing. Their egg-yolk-yellow chest feathers glitter amongst the branches as the birds preen and jump from branch to branch. We marvel as they lift up one by one to fly in a straight line across our roof towards the tall Imperial palm in our front garden. About this time of year, the huge clusters of white flowers sprouted beneath its massive leaves have turned into tangled clumps of hard litt...