this never before seen heard or felt day

 

barely dawn

not even a chirrup.

I hear the murmur of voices and then a door closing

a car starting and the high pitch of a small child calling out from the verandah

‘love youu   love youuu     love youuuu

as he waves off his mother now midwife

who works in a hospital a long drive from here.

 

 

 

I snuggle back in and hope he does too.

I resist wakefulness and turn back to the dream world

seeking glimmers of my nighttime journeys.

the door opens, a small shape enters barely visible in the half light

and climbs up onto the bed pressing firmly against me.

and then rather loudly for the hour I thought,

‘soooo  granddad is up making tea and toast for us in bed’

he says with a certain amount of satisfaction in his voice.

mmmm … I inhale the divine radiance of innocence and adventures yet to be had.

I know how lucky I am to be here

now

in this moment.

this day this new day

this never before seen heard or felt day.

 

 

 

the sky is milky and the forest a huddle of dark shapes against it.

first one chip-choo-chippychoo and then a long while later others begin-

a whistle… pip pip… twee twee ..some laughter and

melodies that rise out of the silence to fill the spaces inbetween.

small shapes flit across the verandah from stem to shrub to flower to post.

mmmm….

And this is why I am here

to be present for this beauty

this magnificence

this Song of Life.

 

 

 

the other morning I got out of bed and discovered a dead kingfisher on the verandah.

looked to me like it had bonked itself out hitting the window.

this happens a bit and sometimes we can pick them up

hold them to our hearts and they will recover to go on and sing the tale.

too late for this little fella.

and what an outfit with its rich royal blueness on head and back

perfectly set off by an orange breast.

little cream flashes below the ear and a long deadly beak complete the lush look.

 

I pop it in a box so I can show the wee king when he gets home from school.

he strokes its softness crooning ‘I’m sorry you died’

and off we go to bury it under the lemon verbena.

‘we need something to remember,’  he says and his hands make a cross.

well where on earth did he learn that I wonder?

so we gather two bits of wood from his scrap pile and a rubber band,

‘write on it’ grandma

so I write kingfisher buried here .

 

 

 

And this is who I am

a  dweller inside these tiny moments

these tiny no things

these little capsules of Life going about its busyness.

 

 

 

whispering clouds have come to the day

unfurling their fine spinners thread across the blue blue canvas.

they are unhurried and speak of events yet to happen.

I see wind coming and wings lifting

I see arrows and feathers fanned out like fine lace.

a soft breeze coats my face and bare limbs.

a white butterfly rises and dips about the crimson buddleia.

the air now holds the thickness of summer noon

an indolent heat stretching forever

into the joy  of the seasons harvest.

our hands sticky with juice – apple pear peach plum -running over our chins

as we take  a break from writing

from sitting at the round table

where our pens have been carving warrior words of radical thoughts and creative spells.

a web being designed now

with kindness and passion

with humility and courage.

one stitch at a time I weave into the spell of harmony

one stitch in time saves nine my mother always said.

same thing really.

the circle is open not unbroken

and while tattered fragmented thoughts of an old order demand attention

we resist the urge to grab them.

 

 

I am a card player.

I am a mystic.

I am a mountain home.

I am the hand that weaves and the heart that sings.

it is my time

it is your time.

it is timeless and unknown.

 

 

 

each cloud each wisp each birdsong tells a story

that squirms into my cells strengthening my resolve.

the kingfisher died and I remember that this form I hold will also pass.

And so while I am here

I will hang about in the tiny moments of Life living

 

in the little graces offered

by cloud and butterfly ,

in the wee utterances

of  bird and child.

 

a new moon

 

 

 

so much rain again this summer

places an autumn air upon our mornings where mist and her attendants swirl around the hills dancing until after breakfast.

the valley shines emerald

and here in the forest we wrestle leeches off us everytime we step off the verandah.

goannas large and small harass our hens and like to commandeer the one egg we are almost getting every day. we cant buy eggs with a yolk colour like ours even when we source them free range from the neighbours down the road.

our three girls do enjoy a diet rich in wild greens, invertebrates and kitchen scraps and we thank them for adding that richness to our diet.

 

 

my bedroom verandah on the north west corner of the house has become a shortcut for creatures to use such is the wild growth all around us.

why fight your way thru that jungle when you can step onto the boards beside the bank of batteries and meander across exiting down a couple of steps near the paper maiche room?

in the night possums take time out from galloping along our iron roof to shimmy down a pole and muck up outside our bedroom. they have  so enjoyed the grapes this season.

wallaby and wombat make use of it  and if we forget to shut the hens in at night they will make a beeline for our verandah and cackle loudly until one or other of us blearily hunts them off.

early dawn also sees the swamp wallaby sitting on the verandah eating the leaves of the pink salvia.

quite a highway out there – just waiting for one of us to trip over someone when we go out for our nocturnal visits.

a rasping scratching sound on the boards had me looking out the window just now to see goanna has also cottoned on to this pathway.  I think it has fled hassling the hens because John went after it with the rake.

I got up and pulled the door shut so it wouldn’t get any ideas of joining me

perhaps I am mistaken but it does seem as if they are all very interested in what goes on this side of the glass and mudbrick walls. or maybe they are trying to find ways to avoid the leeches and the ticks.

we made a scoot for the kitchen door the other afternoon when Jess saw red belly black snake sidling along behind stanleys stove wood and I managed  to close it closed before it could take a slide  thru the fly screen  and investigate.

on two separate occasions we have had a red belly check out our pantry/kitchen and then there was the rather large  goanna that could not find its way out the door out of our lounge room for simply ages.

suffice to say the forest is in awesome form – wildly chaotic and flourishing pushing fungi thru in any number of places…

dams are full and frogs are plentiful

turtles have had a great breeding season and wallaby babies poke heads out of every pouch.

 

 

indeed this spring/summer has been the season of the baby

and we have been blessed to welcome two new beings into our family

two girls born to two sisters

will they be warriors like me? queries Kingston John who has an obsession with warriors star wars and lego.

he insists on warrior training with his dad carrying shield and wooden sword and both return sporting bruises,

obviously no quarter is given.

of course they will be earth warriors we tell him just like you but right now it is milky breasts and cuddles that they want .

the miracle of new life

of attending to the journey of nurturing a tiny being.

possibly one of the most awesome tasks we ever undertake and yet a career is deemed more valid.

the twenty four /seven sacrifice of parents with a baby lies unseen beneath the text of lives.

all of us have sprung from a womb some of us suckled and some of us were deeply loved .

not really something one thinks about as life takes us on into the next stage and the next and the next 

and then as a grandparent it all gets revisited  

and I observe  the girls doing it differently.

I become  privy to discussions about parenting ( oh how I went ‘wrong’) and learning new terms like ‘co- sleeping’ and ‘supervised tummy time’ and and .. ‘lactation consultants.’

whaaattt…the…

all a bit heady for me.

I am not sure how I did it but I ended up with healthy adult children despite ticking most of the no-no boxes.

 

 

the wee king has started school-

a steiner school with soft curves, grace and gentle harmonics splashed with colours of the rainbow and cubbies in the yard with chooks and veges and songs

rooted in the notion that the child is a spiritual being.

sort of wets my eyes to take him there and reinforces that change is possible when I contemplate my start at the age of five.

sobbing … in a long corridor without end and being yanked  off my mother and shoved  into a classroom where I was scared and nervous for the rest of my school days.

one early memory involves being made to stand in front of the class

– hold out your hand – and then wacked several times with a ruler because I had done the ‘wrong’ page of arithmetic for homework.

I thought I was five but others in the family insist I was six.

oh well thats alright then isn’t it?

and then at ten I was made to sit outside a classroom again that long austere corridor because I refused to take my cardy off when the teacher told me to.

yes always rebellious – never did like to be told what to do.

eventually got carted off to the principals for a chat where by virtue of being a girl I avoided the strap.

And so when goanna and wombat and wallaby like to make my verandah a short cut I secretly applaud them,  I admire their I’ll do it my way style and I absolutely wish for all creatures the right to Be 

 

the right to Be themselves.