Yesterday, on my third day of leave I sat in the long grass, in the shade of our callistemon and right next to the new chook run my daughter and I made the day before. I was exhausted from an hour’s digging, so I sat very still and quiet for a while. Still enough and for long enough to be approached by a pair of usually timid crested pigeons. They hopped, one at a time onto the chooks water container and had a little sip of water, just a hand’s breadth from me.
When I was young I thought these birds were drab beyond belief – just grey and beige and a few black stripes. Yesterday, I got to see them close enough to notice that their stripes are iridescent, purple and green flashing in the sun. The beige is like a blush shawl, dusted gently over the shoulders. These little birds are also delightfully dainty, especially when sitting among my fat hens.
I am grateful today for the beauty in the ordinary and for having taken the time to notice.
Thank you also Melanie J Cook for the beautiful photo.
Safe in the trees, the crows watch the chooks finish their brekky. If Loki was here she would hawk-hurtle the hens and scatter them across the yard. She would glide to her favourite branch to sit and laugh. I’d laugh with her. But Loki is gone, and the rest of the crows mutter and wait. Continue reading “Torresian crow”
Loki was a crow and also my friend. She had a sense of humour – she would swoop the chooks to give them a fright, and hang around the BBQ to pinch stuff when my back was turned. I once tricked her by leaving a closed but empty egg carton on the BBQ table… she took it to her favourite branch and swore at me when she discovered what I had done… She limped home one day, badly injured, maybe by a car. I did try to help her, but she was afraid and upset when I approached, and still able to keep out of my reach – so I left food and water out and let her be. She died a few days later in the neighbours’ paddock. One of my daughters collected her skull for me a few months later.
The scrying stick I found while walking to work. My girls and I were reading Harry Potter at the time. The stick (and the books) provided a little magic in a pretty humdrum part of my life.
Port Macquarie is a classic family holiday place. Cliff rimmed, facing sunrise, plenty of pretty walks to be had… Some of the beaches are pebbly rather than sandy – unusual in Australia… The waves make the most beautiful shushing sound as they wash along these beaches.
one for the chooky-ladies who give me clucks and squawks, funniness and eggs
two for the black and white feathered brigade who eat the grubs and bugs in the garden and sing so cheerfully
three for the wee wonders the tiny blue and blacks and brown and reds who cling so daintily on fine little feet and trumpet their good mornings
four for the sweetness of the lacey gold and chocolate quackers
five for the magnificence of the raptors – the wedgie, the falcon, the goshawk – for wonder and awe – and the reminder of just how much we love all the others
and six – a bonus – for the crows who provide such witty conversation