Wye River, disfigured from the Wye we knew. Orange webbing sections off no-go areas. Hired fencing stops drivers entering ruined back streets. Changes to skyline and contour come into view at every step and stop. Red heads of rosellas reconnoitre in treetops. Their crimson sides resemble gum-flowers, road reflectors. They haven’t changed. Their blue arrows through gullies, dives across rooftops, describe familiarity. Seed-bearing trees were destroyed in hundreds. So, we’re allowed to feed the birds, a pastime normally condemned by residents. This April the restless rosellas arrive swiftly. When pushier birds push off, they stroll up to the scattered grain.