Television Aerials and Cockatoos

Last night before I went to sleep, I wondered where my local cockatoos had gone, where they might be flying to lately...and I thought how lovely it would be if they came to visit in my backyard.

Huh. Hey presto. Two morning visitors.

This is part of a bigger story. A mystery, if you like. Which I'll write about soon.

I Must Write Down What's Happening

I must write down what's happening,
not forgetting anyone.
It's true that suddenly I grow tired,
I look at the stars,
I lie down in the grass, an insect
the color of a violin goes by,
I place my arm across a small breast
or beneath the waist of the woman I love,
and I look at the hard
velvet
of the night trembling
with frozen constellations,
then
I feel a wave of mysteries
rising in my soul,
childhood,
weeping in corners...

From The Invisible Man, Pablo Neruda

The Art of Camouflage

Secret Keeper

Looking Skyward, I Read...

Surrender - Black Cockatoo Dreaming

Yellow Tailed Black Cockatoos

Sometimes the past seeps through the cracks. Like light or dark. Cracks that can appear, in what we know as linear time, when fatigue takes hold. And, this was one of those nights.

I am resting beside my lover when images of my brother, as a child, surface. He is young and beautiful. A dark haired boy with a handsome grin. And, he is learning how to kick a football. He is unsteady and connecting the pigskin with his boot is difficult for him. One of my sister's and I have been born with the magic of physical synchronicity, coordination if you like. And, this fact highlights the problems my brother is having.

My father stands at the end of the green square, looming like a shadow. He is the quintessential Australian male with an unholy respect for ball skills. My brother tries to kick to him. The football bounces off the side of his boot, dribbles along the ground. My little sister runs to scoop it up with one arm and cheerfully boots it the remaining distance. She is the same age as my brother yet artful when she moves.

My father we can see, is disgusted. Pathetic, he mutters, as he looks at the small figure in the too-long Tiger's jumper. And, we watch my brother's head droop as he wanders across the grass to stand behind a tree. I feel the ache in my heart that has become so frequent that I have become to think of it as my natural way of being. There is a monster in our midst.

And, tonight this memory is the trigger. My childhood starts to spill across the night. I talk about it in a measured way. It is so long ago and the pain has long since faded. Except that my brother died not long after he turned 34, essentially I believe of a broken heart.

My lover has not heard these stories before. That I lived them makes her sad and angry by turns. Her kindness surpasses the blue dome we like to call the sky. Her love is real. Afterwards, she holds me all night and we sleep, peacefully.

When we wake in the morning, she tells me of a dream she had. Yellow tailed black cockatoos had appeared whilst we were on a road trip. She could see I was overjoyed. The birds were flapping against the windscreen, the side windows. They wanted to come in. She wanted to lower her window but was concerned about the danger. She was torn because she could see the joy this would bring me. This, I think, is beautiful. She is beautiful.

I watch her climb from the bed to make espressos. And, I think about her dream.

A short while later, when I am eating muesli , I hear the call of yellow tail black cockatoos. Yep. Unbelievable. I look up from the bed and see two yellow tailed black cockatoos perched on a branch less than a metre from the window. God, I think. Quick, quick, I say. The cockatoos are looking at me, looking at them. I am overjoyed.

My lover appears at the bedroom door and I usher her in, slowly. Ah, she says.

The cockatoos linger while we take in their presence. Awe-struck. Through the glass they are strong, handsome and majestic. They are totally and completely there. The branches they sit on are thin and usually attract small birds like black headed honeyeaters and scarlet robins. This is hard to absorb. They watch us awhile and then we watch as they spread their wings, lift and rise into the sky. Beautiful.

My lover, in 10 years of living here, has not seen yellow tailed black cockatoos like this. So close. A pair. Through the bedroom window. Her dream is so fresh accepting this reality proves tricky. The yellow tailed black cockatoos timing is impeccable.

And, for a while we are silenced, stunned. We read about the Black Cockatoo Dreaming and take on their message of allowing the Mystery of inevitability to unfold in our lives so that we might surrender to change. And, for the rest of the day we bask in grace.

Albino Joey

Albino Wallaby

The Isthmus

Breath 2