I peeked out of the bedroom window. The nest was empty. The Yellow-faced Honeyeater chicks had gone.

Of course a disaster scenario immediately sprang to mind: Had they been a meal for a fox/an eagle/a kookaburra/a snake?

But then, I reasoned, wouldn’t the nest be a little messed up and some of the branches broken? I abandoned worry and went about my chores.

Later that day as I watered the front garden, two very vocal and agitated Yellow-faced Honeyeaters flew around me, low to the ground, furiously snapping their wings. One of them landed briefly and held one wing to the side, as if it had been injured. Then it took off, again flying fast and low.

I thought it might be some sort of dramatic courting ritual. I hadn’t seen birds around here do anything like that before.

I leaned over and peeked into the branches of the Cistus as I watered the bed. Yep, definitely empty. Just as well, really; the leaves were looking a little threadbare and wouldn’t have provided much shade in the ferocious heatwave we’re expecting this week.

The adult Honeyeaters, meanwhile, were going berserk, fluttering very close to me.

Just as I was about to water around the Hebe, I noticed them in the branches: three little birds sitting very still. They’d grown around their huge eyes, although their beaks still appeared too big for them and they looked too young for prolonged flight.

I hastily retreated and watched from a distance. The mother bird flew back, carrying dead insects for her brood. I wondered whether she and the other bird – the father, perhaps – had been creating a diversion to draw me away from the chicks.

For the next couple of days I steered clear of the Hebe but could see the chicks through the bedroom window.

Now they’ve gone, to where I can’t imagine.

We miss their plaintive chirping in the morning’s first light. Although their stay was brief, we feel privileged that they made our home their home.