People who have their wits about them will say there are no such things as angels but I’m looking at a visitation of them even as I write.

It’s a sullen day in Christchurch. Sodden, too, with a southerly hastening the annual fall. And yet the flight of angels outside my window spins and sparkles in the air as merrily as the proverbial larks of spring.

I’m talking, of course, about the winter visitation of the silver-eye or wax-eye, that cheeky little native which flits into our backyard in a flash of olive green and loves nothing better than to chew the fat on our cherry tree.

We’ll get to that morsel later.

The silver-eye’s name in Maori is tauhou, meaning "stranger" or "new arrival "– a reference, no doubt, to the fact that that it wasn’t sighted in these islands until the 1830s.

It’s widespread across Australia, and is thought to have crossed the divide on the back of a transtasman gale. Which is our gain and Australia’s loss, since the verdant little creature now nests in our affections as happily as it does in our verdant tree-lines.

So why does it descend to suburbia at this time of year? To escape the claws of winter, and to feast on garden insects and nectar – and the fatted calf that some of us hang from our trees.

Word of a fresh bird-feeder in the ‘hood spreads within minutes, not only among the wax-eyes but also to the notorious starling gang. And those boys are quick to corner whatever’s going on the block.

Starlings are nearly human in the way they jostle for advantage and straddle more than their share. Puffed-up in their black finery they could pass as mob bosses – or corporate raiders.

But they lack the agility (and grace) of the wax-eyes, which sneak up from below and pirouette from their revolving feast, as if to mock the clumsy interlopers.

On a day that looks and feels like a complete washout, this has to be the best show in town.

It’s also a god-given antidote to the depression dogging this broken city.

New figures reveal 66,000 Cantabrians to be on anti-depressants – the highest rate in the country. And the Christchurch branch of St John has logged 209 self-harm or suicide-related calls already this year – more than one a day.

I can't deny that medication is a lifesaver for those in stark travail. But for my money, a $2.50 bird feeder from my friendly butcher is a cheaper fix for the blues than a $50 visit to the doctor and chemist.

Or so I thought originally. Waxeyes, you see, are busy eaters – and the butcher is getting a nice cut from feeding the habit.

Money well spent though. Especially if your faith can stretch to seeing angels of hope dancing on the end of a piece of string.

The Rev Brian Thomas is the online editor of Anglican Taonga.