From the Tree A puzzling pile of grass and sticks with a suspicion of moving tail feathers appeared in the crook of a branch across the road in a tall eucalypt seen from our kitchen window.   Later, a currawong, wolf black with white flashes glides from the nearby reserve to the nest and bends down to feed a chick that stretches up in dark profile; long thin neck and slim fig head.   A windstorm drops the chick onto asphalt to crouch near the fence, pale mouthed, bedraggled. Still there next day, it grooms its wings. Days later, not…