Guess they’re having a branch meeting.

The cockatoos seemed to embody a kind of quiet confidence as they perched high on the barren branch. Their crests caught the sunlight just so, giving them an almost regal appearance. I stood there for longer than I expected, watching them shift slightly as if deciding whether to take flight or stay put. The sky was an endless blue canvas behind them, and the contrast against their white feathers made them seem like living brushstrokes in a painting. It was one of those moments where time felt irrelevant—just the birds, the sky, and me in silent communion.