The Bird Twice Given Up For Lost

Deep in the east of the island, Polly followed the tree line up into a forest unlike anything on the coast, tangled old laurel trees draped in moss, their canopy so thick that little sunlight reached the ground. This cool, damp forest around Pico da Vara is the last stronghold of a small grey and pink bird found nowhere else on the planet, the priolo, and Polly had come to see if she could find one.

The bird very nearly disappeared twice. Sightings stopped completely in nineteen thirty-two, and for more than thirty years most people assumed it was gone for good, until a small population was rediscovered in nineteen sixty-seven, hiding in exactly this kind of forest. Even after that, farming and fast-growing foreign trees kept shrinking its home until fewer than one hundred breeding pairs remained, making it, by most counts, the second rarest songbird anywhere in Europe.

What saved the priolo was patient, unglamorous work. Volunteers and scientists spent decades pulling out foreign trees and replanting the slow native laurel the bird actually depends on for food and shelter. Polly watched two of them lift off from a low branch, a soft flash of pink breast against the dark green, calling back and forth in short, low notes before disappearing back into the canopy.

She waited a long while in the quiet, hoping for one more look, but the forest closed back over the birds as completely as if they had never been there. It felt like a fair trade, Polly thought: a small silence, in exchange for a species still holding on.