There’s a Nuthatch sounding off like a car alarm in the old Oak tree:
It’s such beautiful weather I can see every detail of its plumage:
It stops calling and settles on a branch right in front of me in full sunshine. It spreads its wings, preens its feathers, rubs its head and stretches its neck. It fluffs itself up and sits there, still.
You could almost say it was enjoying itself.