Find Yourself a Nice Bird

A sound rings from the swamp, a clear clang bird call, slowly emerging from the tweet-clutter.

A boy bird searching for a spring love. Even my human-girl ears are piqued to this heart cry ringing true. All noise litter stops to hear the deep evolutionary song trickle through the air and thick vegetation,  a rythmic ponk ponk sent out with the pure mission to enrapture a mate, to seek for that one set of ears that cannot resist.

Then a hammer starts to bang, a plane flies above, all the creatures titter at once again. Rowdy rainbow lorikeets squawk like a football crowd, cheap chirps fling about in casual conversation about the weather, gossip, where to eat, where to go. The lover's throat is quiet.

Eucalyptus leaves rustle in a high breeze to shoosh the rabble. In the vacuum after a plane trail a space grows.  All the chat starts up again only to give way to the soloist who emerges above the din to pierce a  lovebird heart that beats in the swamp.

'Parks for Pussies'

I like to regularly kidnap MSP & kids in the VW, giving them only 15 minutes notice to gather shoes, hats, drink bottles, nappies and three-horned dinosaurs, then head en familie for a journey into the unknown. On Mother's Day I had supreme power over which direction we went. I was yearning for wide open spaces, Grotto Point Reserve, Balgowlah, just fell into my head - an excellent place for a 'car picnic' should the weather turn.

Me being a 'park right out front' sort of girl, I found us a spot with world class views. We did damage to old-school chicken rolls sitting next to the VW on an upturned crate and a cushion probably issued with the original '71 back seat. Certain members enjoyed the 'standing up lunch' whilst the babe of our clan slept in the back, taking in the fresh air blowing between north and south heads of Sydney Harbour.

On the way there we bypassed various lovingly mowed, 

overcrowded,  sea-level parks which I sneeringly dubbed as 'parks for pussies'. We pushed on to this wilder place where the sea clawed at the cliffs and the vista circled for 270 degrees. A perch from where even the Manly Ferry looked miniature.

It's my job to enlighten our city-living children with the peaceful pleasures of nature, show them the glorious sprays of wildflower decorating the coastal heath. Walk amongst masses of orange Banksia ericifolia and velvety flannel flowers which are incidentally the floral emblem chosen for New South Wales....blah blah blah, all they wanted to do was to feed chips to the magpies!

I  recommend 'Buddhism for Mothers' by Sarah Napthali.