You’ve got to love a city that reveres its bird life. Christchurch is the sort of place where in spring, a mother duck and her sixteen fluffy ducklings can stop inner city traffic for a whole block while she waddles across the road from the Avon River to wherever she has decided to take her babies. Everyone stops. People take photographs. Now it’s the turn of the godwits – a time when hundreds of people gather out on Southshore to farewell the bar-tailed godwits as they set off on their arduous journey back to Alaska. They come here every year to feed on the rich estuary banks of Southshore Spit; then in April, over a four week period, they fly out in groups - 11,000km back to Alaska, via China. It’s an astounding feat and when the last birds have gone the Christchurch Cathedral rings its bells. Lovely! In a world saturated with bad news, I think it’s important to remember the small inspiring stories.