Size gives them away, seen from back windows, and their colour. As the bird book says, “edged broadly grey,” not a colour to attract attention, but so large a bird is all I see. Every few years a black-faced cuckoo-shrike visits our garden. April they migrate north, which includes stopovers on wooded ridges. I watch the bird in the plum tree: “weak in foot but strong in wing… their technique is to fly from tree to tree, pausing briefly on each to look about before moving on.” Last month, Tasmania possibly, next month, Queensland possibly. I look again, it’s gone.