In the buss, situated closer to the ground was a funny sort of nest made of twigs, cloth and paper with doodles on them. Actually, the cloth, upon further inspection, were old rags covered in paint. Perhaps they'd belonged to an artist.
But what were they doing in a nest? A low, bird-like cooing came from deeper in the bush.
Well that answered the question right there. It was a Mr. Wilson. He/She looked rather spooked, having been surprised right out of it's nest and maybe out of it's shoes as it scuffed one of those red converses, wiggling the foot against the grassy turf to make sure it was on good and tight. You'd just missed out on seeing a Mr. Wilsons actual foot. What rotten timing, but you'd also stumbled across a Mr. Wilson, which meant good timing.
(( Mind if I snap one of those places open for two others? Well if that isn't motivation to post, I don't know what is. ))