Roof with a view

Nobody photographs mynas. They are too common, too loud, too obviously at home on every roof and rubbish bin in the country. Which is exactly why I did. Brown body, black head, that bright yellow patch behind the eye and the white flash in the wing when it flies.

This one had the best seat in the village: the ridge of a green roof with the hills falling away behind it. It stayed there through several frames, turning its head in that jerky, alert way, cataloguing every movement below.

The green of the roof and the green of the hills almost match. The bird sits in the gap between them.