A short story - inspired by observations in the Port Stephens area

 The Guardians of the Lemon-Scented Gum

The silver-grey bark of the old Lemon-scented Gum was a masterpiece of camouflage. To the average student rushing toward the playground, the branch overhanging the service alley looked like nothing more than a jagged, broken limb. But if you looked closer—as Miranda always did—the "bark" had eyes.

The Masterpieces of Stillness

The family of four Tawny Frogmouths—Papa, Mama, and two fledglings who were rapidly outgrowing their downy fluff—sat in a perfect, vertical row. Throughout the sweltering school day, they were statues. With their beaks pointed skyward and their streaked feathers mimicking the dappled light, they barely seemed to breathe.

While the school bell clanged and children shrieked nearby, the Frogmouths remained in a state of deep, meditative calm. They loved the daylight hours for this very reason: the art of being invisible. To them, stillness wasn't just a defense; it was a dignified family tradition.

The Midnight Buffet

The real reason the family chose this specific gum tree, however, wasn't just the shade. Directly below them sat a large, olive-green garbage bin, often overflowing with the remnants of school lunches.

To a human, it was an eyesore. To the Frogmouths, it was the best restaurant in town. As the sun set, the bin became a stage for "The Rodent Show." Mice and rats, lured by discarded crusts and apple cores, would scurry across the lid. From their vantage point, the Frogmouths didn't even have to fly far. With a silent, ghostly glide, Papa would drop like a heavy shadow, snap up a "tasty fresh" mouse in his wide, frog-like beak, and return to the branch before the other rodents even realised a predator was among them.

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Miranda’s Secret

Miranda was the only student who knew their secret. Every recess, while her friends played handball, she would drift toward the alleyway. She was an inquisitive girl with a habit of tilting her head at the same angle as the birds.

"I see you," she whispered today, standing just a few feet away.

Mama Frogmouth cracked one yellow eye just a fraction of a millimetre. She recognised the small human with the messy braids and the quiet voice. Miranda never threw stones or pointed loudly; she simply watched with a respectful curiosity. Miranda noticed a stray grey feather caught on a low twig. She picked it up, marvelling at its softness. "You caught a big one last night, didn't you?" she asked, glancing at the scuff marks on the bin lid.

The birds didn't move. They were back to being wood and shadow. But as Miranda turned to head back to class, the smallest fledgling let out a tiny, nearly silent oom-oom-oom—a soft vibration that Miranda felt more than heard. It was their version of a goodbye.

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The Looming Threat

Miranda's quiet observations went beyond just admiring the Frogmouths. She was a natural-born protector. So when the whispers of "new classrooms" and "expanded facilities" started circulating around the school, a knot formed in Miranda's stomach.

One afternoon, she saw Mr. Henderson, the school principal, and a man in a hard hat studying a large blueprint rolled out on a folding table near the service alley. Her heart pounded. This was it. She overheard snippets of their conversation: "...optimal use of space... demolish the old shed... and that dead-looking gum tree, too."

"That tree isn't dead, Mr. Henderson!" Miranda gasped, stepping forward. Both men turned to her.

"Miranda, what are you doing here?" Mr. Henderson asked, a little flustered. He squinted up at the tree. "Are those... some kind of owls up there? I've seen them sometimes, roosting."

Miranda's eyes widened slightly. "No, Mr. Henderson, they're not owls," she corrected gently but firmly. "They're Tawny Frogmouths. They look a bit like owls, but they're actually more closely related to nightjars. They're masters of disguise."

The man in the hard hat chuckled. "Looks like a goner to me, kid. Probably hollow, just waiting to fall over."

AI generated image of Miranda and the birds

The Preservation Plan

Miranda knew she couldn't just tell them about the Frogmouths. They were so good at camouflage, the men might think she was making it up, or worse, decide to remove the "pests." She needed a different angle.

"It's a Lemon-scented Gum," she began, channelling everything her science teacher had ever said about local flora. "They're really important for native insects. And... and that one has a really special type of moss growing on it. It's part of the school's natural history."

Mr. Henderson, usually preoccupied with budgets, looked at the tree with slightly more attention. Miranda knew she had to seal the deal. "Plus," she added, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "I've seen so many different kinds of birds use it. It’s like their own little apartment building. If we destroy it, where will they go? And who will catch the mice around the bins?"

A Shared Silence

Mr. Henderson stroked his chin. "An interesting point, Miranda. We do want to maintain some green spaces." He turned to the contractor. "Perhaps we can adjust the plans slightly. Shift the new building footprint by a few meters. Is that feasible?"

The contractor sighed, pulling out a pencil. "It'll mean some minor revisions, but... I suppose it's possible."

Miranda offered a small, triumphant smile. She had bought her secret family more time. As the men walked away, she glanced up at the branch. Papa Frogmouth's eye was barely visible through the dappled leaves. For a fleeting moment, she imagined he gave her the faintest, almost imperceptible nod. The masters of stillness remained, and for now, their home was safe.

--

Shalom,

Ozhamada

Note: this was inspired by observations made during a visit to the Tiligerry Peninsula. I was a visitor on a school site and had chance to ponder why the family of Tawny Frogmouths had chosen a particular tree.