English to Spanish Art/Literary Poetry & Literature Ornitología

Golden orioles
In 2014 Chris Stewart published Last Days of the Bus Club, describing it in a rather tongue-in-cheek way as the fourth volume in his Driving Over Lemons trilogy. Following his lead, I’m now declaring golden oriole (Oriolus oriolus in Latin, oropéndola in Spanish) to be the fourth member of the ‘exotics’ trio.
I’m down on our bottom terrace, tinkering about with the fairly primitive irrigation system. I hear a beautiful fluting call and spin round just in time to see a medium-sized bird flying along the valley, with hints of yellow and black. It’s against the sun, so the colours are not too obvious, but the package – song, size, hints of colour, mode of flight, what birders call the ‘jizz’, can only say ‘golden oriole’. We’ve heard them here occasionally and my guess is that they like the tall eucalyptus trees below the abandoned hamlet of Los Garcías, at the end of the valley and near the fuente, about 300 metres away. I’m just absorbing the pleasure this moment has given me, when back it comes, in swooping flight, fluting as it goes, this time with the sun on it, leaving no doubt that it is a male oriole, a superb addition to the mix of local species.
You’d think that a 24 cm long bright yellow bird with black wings and a pink beak would be easy enough to see but they’re not. They spend most of their time in the canopy of high trees and are surprisingly well camouflaged. The females, olive-green above and paler below, are even harder to spot. The giveaway is the call. Google golden oriole and you can see and hear video and audio clips so you’ll know what you’re listening for. I’ve had several conversations with friends and acquaintances who have waxed eloquent about the joy they’ve had from oriole encounters, one of whom, Fred Smithers, captured it perfectly: “Seeing the oriole is like having a fleeting side glance through to another world.”