the innocent heart

 

 

 

there are those that rule that write the laws and administer them while others find themselves on a proscribed list.

asylum seekers are refugees fleeing persecution danger horror and terror. they come to our shores knocking asking pleading for assistance and find themselves banished to rot on other islands.

probably they were hanging out the washing one day and a rocket demolished their street so they picked up the kids and ran and ran and ran searching for a safe haven.

 

every day Kingston inquires into the world around him and so far this uncomfortable fact has not yet leached into his life.

 

Kingston sits in his car seat looking out the window watching the worlds appear in front of him.

 

there is plover nesting right beside the road again. why do they do that mummy he asks, will they be ok?

there is wallaby and kangaroo – the females heavy with pouch – a leg sticking out a head bending down to nibble. they stare at the car swivel their ears turn their head . sometimes they will with consummate grace bound away, other times they watch his small face pressed up against the glass. did you see that leap over the fence daddy? I wish I could do that.

 

there are the young bandit calves standing in the middle of the track holding the car up again – one with a white patch over its eye and one with clouds painted on its back.

the young recognize each other and they invite Kingston to a race and off they go – their legs kicking awkwardly up in the air, head bucking an bouncing , so gawky and having a ton of fun. Kingston laughs delightedly and waves them goodbye.

 

the wedge tail eagle slides into view drawing lazy circles in the sky – a pair of them gliding rising and falling.

in an instant the eagle spears to a paddock plucking a bunny up in mighty talons and sweeping it off its feet.

a gulp a heartfelt sigh for the bunny and awe for the majesty of the moment witnessed.

 

the child tries vainly to hold all things being equal and yet some must eat others – it is the nature of it and difficult to grasp in the innocent heart.

 

and there is fox -a golden red creature that races fleet footed like the wind across the countryside. three young kit foxes disturbed early one morning near a dam running for cover and in the weeks and months ahead gradually identities emerged and fearless was so named.

there he is dad there is fearless – tail flared out in the wind stopping and turning, alert eyes seeing past the window into the heart of a small boy.

the fox – interloper scavenger vermin killer of lambs and chickens is hunted baited trapped and flung aside by the great human army.

 

kingston doesn’t know any of this protected by his innocence and capacity to love all beings equally.

 

 

we humans have a righteousness which in turn creates the ‘other’. By proclaiming something other we in turn fear it and vilify it.

introduced species are front runners for proscription – once on the list they have to go and in liberal amounts poison is laid the gun is loaded the trap is set.

 

in the late light of day there is bunny bobtail racing across the grasses and tussocks, whiskers twitching, scampering across the road in front of the car,bobbing down a burrow running for its very life – hunted and persecuted by trap bait gun and virus it clings on to existence alongside us.

 

the thing about creating ‘other ‘ is how much more powerful it becomes, how much it is demonised and how much truth is bent out of shape.

 

the fox the rabbit the blackberry the willow did not seek to come to this land. they did not choose to be placed on the proscribed list. they were brought over in the pockets of the colonial barons who wished to make this land into what they had left behind.

 

there was no recognition of the indigenous way of living here- no acknowledgement of their agricultural practices, their villages their methods of conservation , food preparation medicines or cultural knowledge. no notice taken of the songs the dances the ceremonies- no notice at all of the effort they employed to maintain vitality of land river and tribe. they became ‘other’ and were systemically disempowered by the gun the church and the law. into the background of the white colonial fantasy they disappeared .

 

coming into the valley there are camels- the knobbly kneed beasts carrying their water supply come from a land of desert winds and sand dunes of hot sun and clear broad skies .their thick rubbery lips chewing – spittle flying and Kingston laughs to see this creature step out of the pages of ali baba and the 40 thieves .

 

sometimes on a late night and a little boy does not have many of them a wombat is sighted right at the time when the owl and tawny frogmouth are swooping silently thru the forest selecting their dinner. wombat is standing still pondering dreaming having a scratch a nibble of grass ambling about its busy ness.

 

back home spring has brought the skinks out to play and kingston breaks off a bit of biscuit and offers it to them -they have had a long sleep and are hungry he tells us.

 

Kingston lives in a world with so many Beings jostling for survival at a time when our very existence on the planet is looking decidedly shaky.

 

perhaps instead of our assumed colonial superiority we could learn humility.

perhaps we could advertise tolerance and sharing as a means of accommodating the biodiversity still tenuously hanging on.

perhaps we could look around and feel the beauty in all things.

And then we might ask – who are we without the eagle without the fox without the platypus?

who are we without love without family without community?

and what do we become when we persecute other?

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.

 

 

the faerie embassy makes a call

 

 

  It is time to honour all that is and all that can be.

 It is time to act courageously with passion on behalf of all those that have no voice in our ‘human world’

 The insects, the flyers, the swimmers, the four leggeds, the rocks, the trees, the crawlers….

 

The Faerie Embassy acknowledges the voice of all relations that dwell in this forest and on this earth…….

 

brush tailed possum, ringtail possum, sugar glider, red wallaby, swamp wallaby, grey kangaroo, goanna, lizard, bandicoot, red belly black snake, diamond python, rabbit, bat, frog, cricket, butterfly, mosquito, moth, rabbit, wombat, echidna, mouse, bush rat, fox, hen,grubs, spider, cicada, tick, leech…….

 

                                           AND

 

Superb blue Wren, Kookaburra, Grey Fantail, Rufous Whistler, Bowerbird, Wood duck, Crested Shrike -tit, Yellow Robin, Crimson Rosella, Magpie, Finch, Warbler, Honeyeater, Quail, Channel billed Cuckoo, Wonga Pigeon, Silver eye, Noisy Friarbird, Wattlebird, Finch, Currawong, Eagle, Olive-backed Oriole, Firetail, Eastern Spinebill, Black-faced Cuckoo-shrike, Fork-tailed Swift, Dollarbird, Gang-gang cockatoo, Galah, White-headed pigeon, Grey goshawk, Whip Bird, Sacred Kingfisher, Restless Flycatcher, Leaden flycatcher, Cuckoo Dove, Bronze Winged Pigeon, Peaceful Dove, King Parrot, Boobook Owl, Butcherbird, Topknot Pigeon, Raven, Thornbill, Tree creeper, Tawny Frogmouth, Welcome Swallow, Grey Shrike -thrush, Yellow Tail Cockatoo, Glossy Black Cockatoo, Common Bronzewing, Brown hawk…….

 

 

                                           AND

 

wattle, eucalyptus, casuarina, wild cherry, angophora, red gum, maiden hair fern, kurrajong, titree, stringy bark, black box, grey box, bloodwood, tree fern, orchid, epiphytes, cutty grass, wonga berry vine, hardenbergia, kangaroo grass, wild raspberry, blackberry, white thornbush, geebung, pea flower, herb, weed, worm, beetle, caterpillar, fungi, damp, decomposing matter, snail, turtle, water dragon, perch, eel, rock, crystal, lichen, moss, flower, rain forest, water, soil, sun, moon, mist, starlight, clouds, rain,spider webs, rainbows…….

 

                                         AND

 

energy, space, fairy, dryad, nymph, sprite, pixie, spirit, angel, deva…….

 

                                          AND

 

 creatures bounding, scurrying hopping leaping climbing soaring ,branches creaking, bees buzzing, birds singing calling , stillness, the breath of old trees, the caress of spirit, commonsense,the footsteps of the Ancestors, the beacon of the future, the Yowie, sacred law, the laughter of children, the nations first peoples, the joys of human, the void,……. 

 

the faerie embassy gives thanks to All of the above

and to the  unknown…….

 

 

Earth

 

 

for years now I have ached to tell the story of my country

 my place in the landscape 

the forest in which I breathe.

 

named Avalon some 30 years ago after the myth of the isle that appears in and out side of reality.

also named andelain by my partner 

and called jellybean road by the children and friends.

 

I have wanted to sing the twisted curling limbs of the ancient angophoras with their nesting hollows and rough barked trunks scored by the claws of goanna and possum.

 

I have wanted to capture the dawn chorus in a bottle and spray its full melodic symphony into the halls of parliamentary power, into the barracks of uniforms and guns, into the open hearts and minds of our pre schoolers.

 

I have longed to distill the essence of wild violet and fungi, of milk thistle and wombat berry meandering sprawling their fecundity around the base of stringy bark, bloodwood, black wattle and she-oak.

 

 

 Earth has called me to respond, to listen and weave her story into the fabric of social reality

so that none may ever again forget her, so that no human may ever again be in any doubt

about ‘the one place’ that is our home.

 

I write the story of the mist spider spinning finely wrought mist so that my morning walk in the forest is layered with sparkling webs spinning rainbows in the rising sun.

as I stop and sit with the morning I am entranced with the dance of the mist maidens over the still sleeping hills.

 

I write the joy of the frog chorus that greets the rain

and I like to tell the story of the baby wombat brought up into adult hood by my daughter

and then released to live its wild and busy life in our forest.

 

This my place is earth, this forest this home.

It is a cauldron of possibilities,

a hearth of family and love;

a dreaming of harmony

and a creative exploration of life within sacred lore.

 

 

 

 

happy solstice

summer solstice

the wheel has reached its point and made the turn

back to a miniscule shortening day by day even though for us summer has arrived.

 

on the bike to the beach

a meditation in which my mindful mind notices my fidgety body

sitting on the soft white sand with the sea thudding in mere inches from my feet.

a small rocky island squats off shore home to cormorants and other sea birds.

in this moment it is  calm and unhurried

the sun warmly intense upon our bodies.

and then when prayers are done we strip off and offer our selves to the salty ocean.

it is kidney aching cold says John but he manages to swim a bit anyway while I hop and bob and dip.

it is refreshing to mind body and spirit.

the beach is a mile long and we are the only souls apart from a little sandpiper who flaps and flares at me – beware beware beware

I stop and see two speckled eggs sitting on top of the sand – oh dear it is holiday time and there will be children and dogs and all manner of activities – how will they survive?

it is doing as it has always done and I offer a prayer that it brings its chicks safely into being.

back home the sky darkens and thunder starts its drum roll .

 

 

Noticings since my return home :

dipodium roseum a pink hyacinth orchid rises up on its single brown stalk – at 110cm with tiny orchid flowers sometimes as many as 40.

christmas beetles – member of the scarab family about 20 -30mm long

they are a shiny bronze beetle with a greeny yellowy iridescence – noisy flyers bumbly and clumsy devouring the fresh new leaves of the eucalypts.

 

turtles aplenty on the dams but no sightings of egg laying sites.

 echidna on the move seeking lunch – this little creature a monotreme or egg laying mammal has no teeth but instead uses its sticky tongue to scoop up the termites and ants.

 

a black snake slides across the track in front of us making us wait – what a pleasure to stop and watch the slow sensual undulation, the head raised probing the way ahead -the tongue smelling molecules of air, a finely tuned sensor that locates  prey shelter and mates.

buddleia bushes are in rambunctious disorder heavy with the weight of bouquets –we have lilac crimson and white and together they provide not only beauty in our garden but a haven for birds and nests bees and butterflies.

 

 

john checks in on the top bar hive that he recently built and added a swarm to,

wearing his groovy coverall mesh safety helmet with  not a scerick of flesh visible he brings back a taste of honey .

oh my goodness an explosion of light sweetness into the mouth, my taste buds explore the wild forest flowers and whiffs of sunshine hail rain and moonlight .

pure unadulterated and humbled joy.

thank you bees,  thank you john who said back in January that this was the year of the hive and he meant it.

 

thank you to all of you

friends family community beloveds and blogging partners

I value each and everyone of you in my life  as I value the rain now falling and the ocean salt on my skin…

thank you all for being who you are and offering me a glimpse of your beauty.

may this year bring you all well being and happiness.

 

 

Happy Solstice

hungry for home

summer solstice looms up

the days long and buttery with sun light penetrating deep into the forest that has been activated by intense heat and much rain.

I am home after three weeks in New Zealand staying with dad and hanging about with sister  nieces  nephews and cousins. being a bit of a ‘black sheep’ in my family my ways seem strange and weird to them. they politely wonder when I will grow up and get a real toilet that flushes and consider it odd that I take my own bags shopping and refuse the plastic bags on offer when they are free ‘you know’. the restrictions they perceive I live with on a solar-powered energy system seem crazy when electrical appliances are so numerous so handy and so time-saving.

I cannot explain myself – planet earth is a far off idea and the role of spirit in our lives has yet to be proven. my family embraces newer bigger better in their modest middle class way – nice people, loving and kind people but like the ditch that separates us our ideologies are not a good fit. still we muddle along while I am there, enjoy each other and hold the peace.

I brought the rain back across the ditch  and it stayed its hand until on the day we left Canberra to drive home.

and then the heavens opened.

in the back seat was me and Kingston john plus red dog and all his friends. he was bravely and excitedly making the journey to grandmas and granddad without mum and dad . in the front seat was Elsie rose and guide dog Chloe with John as driver . the car was chock-a-block and I had a mountain of stuff at my feet and piled all around me. the little fella was not well and we had a very disturbed night at our friends place with aches and pains all over the place. I hoped he would improve once we got home to the forest.

leaving our friends Kingston noted that one of red dogs companions called wait for it ‘building site penquin’ was missing and despite a search party effort by Glenda an rob he did not show up. with a teary lad we said goodbye.we backtracked across the city to pick up Elsie and Chloe who had also been visiting – the sky was threatening and black. as we packed her stuff into the car thunder ripped thru the air and rain poured down.

not the least bit daunted but hungry for home we sallied forth thru a darkened city slick with water.  the car decided to muck up acting all sluggish. after getting every red light possible and a lot of cussing John decided we had to head back to our friends place. we were lost in a shrouded foggy world – cars moving slowly wipers at full speed sheets of water across the roads… it was eerie and disconcerting. then the car came good and a communal sigh of relief was exhaled. we headed onto the highway out-of-town at which point a wiper on the driver’s side went missing in action.

that stopped us in our tracks and so we sat on the side of the road with no visibility in torrential rain wondering what the blinkers was going on?

Kingston clutched red dog tightly and fretted repeating often I just want to go to your place grandma. we ate some bread shared some water and waited……….

it eased ever so slightly and without the wiper working  john turns us back to rob and glens driving with the window down so I  get wet in the back seat . a tighten up of the screw restored the wiper and a spot of lunch a cuppa some rescue remedy restored us.. well except for Kingston who didn’t want to eat and kept complaining about a sore mouth.the good news was that ‘building site penquin’ had been found and tied to a chair so he couldn’t run away anymore. there was a touching reunion and he rejoined his friends while we debated pushing  for home or staying in town another night and reconnecting the boy with his parents .often when sick only mum will do but he is a very accomodating little fella and didn’t seem all that fussed.

and so it was after a very long day of intense rain and exceptional driving skills in which a three-hour journey warped into an all day affair we arrived on the south coast and knew by the rise of the rivers and creeks that it would be unlikely to get in our causeway. we dropped elsie off home and continued on out to our valley seeing water in places never seen before. we realised that we dont usually drive around when it is teaming down.

it is flooded says Kingston intrigued by our disappeared causeway. yep there is no way home tonight we tell him as we sit staring at this river over our road.  back to aunty’s we go.

well one cannot argue that the signs weren’t in our face the whole day . our neighbour recorded 17 inches of rain and this became the first time in 30 years that we have been flooded out and unable to get in home.

after another rough night with a lad that needed to sit on the dunny every 5 minutes Sunday dawned sunny and around lunchtime we attempted home again. the causeway was now passable and three and half weeks after I had left I made it back to the forest.

I am always pleasantly surprised and relieved to find that my reality is waiting for me when I return. that the wallabies are still snucking up onto the verandahs when we aren’t looking, the swallows are teaching their second batch of bairns to fly and forage and the garden is a wild glory after so much rain .any idea of paths and boundaries are fast disappearing.

how is it I live in one world ‘over there’ and then return to something so similar and yet so very different.– a bed is a bed love is love and yet something indefinable intangible and undeniable sings to me here in this great island land – the dreaming plucks at my hearts strings and brings me joyously back into myself.

I have just read that .5% of australians are classified as homeless and those are the ones that show up on stats and it is  estimated that perhaps as many that again  are also without shelter.

I am one of the lucky ones and for that I am immensely grateful.

A hollow is not an empty space –

 

spring notes

 

Stepping out side at night I hear the thumps and bounds of wallabies as they push away from my presence. In the gloaming they will twitch an ear, pause in chewing and watch me closely as I pick thyme and rosemary in the garden , empty the teapot of its leaves or pick a lemon .

The swamp wallaby is known to be a shy creature and it has taken many years for them to hold still with us around but something about the dark hours sends then scattering in all directions.

‘its only me’ I call out but they have moved deeper into the forest and will wait until I have returned inside to my lit castle. They are full of belly with babies and young ones frolicking  with games played and my herb garden shorn closely to the ground.

 

           Already the goannas have got out of bed after their big long winter sleep – a big fella some 2 metres long clambered up onto the kitchen verandah yesterday having a look around . John yelled out ‘is the door shut ? ’ . It was. We had one in the house one time and it was a devilish task getting it back out. We used one of the dogs bones to wave under its nose which it had pressed up against our glass windows in the living room moving its head back and forth trying to understanding this obstacle. You don’t want to get anywhere near their claws which are several inches of sharpness or their long tail that can whip about very quickly.

           Researchers believe now that goannas do have oral venom glands and so a bite could be a nasty business. The good thing is that so far we are not on their list of prey. They are scavengers eating small mammals birds lizards snakes – they also clean up anything left dead in the forest and  sometimes you may see a goanna on the roadside face buried into a roadkill. Eggs are a favourite which makes them hated by all birds in the forest who have a special goanna call and swoop them repeatedly pecking at their tough ole leathery skin.

           This fella watched John detail the car yesterday from the safety of the trunk of its home tree – an angophora some 15 metres high in which it has a hollow apartment up near the top. Their long claws grasp the trunk and they can literally hang on for ages.They use their long forked tongue to sniff out the air and we have seen them wrestle food bigger than their mouths – apparently their lower jaw unhinges but it looks a bit like they toss their head around over and over until the food goes down. After some time watching  the goanna gave a few harsh hissing sounds at which point John walked over to the trunk and hissed right back.

well that sorted something out I guess.

 

            last night the boo book owl marked the night. Boo book is the call though some hear woo hoo or mo poke and it can make 20 calls in under a minute. Aahh we say the boo book is out and about  tonight and a gladness steals thru our bones. This is one of the smallest owls in this country and its colour ranges  the shades of brown with grey and white markings out of which startled yellow eyes peer. The night is its friend and with powerful silent wing beats it strikes – feasting on rats birds beetles moths spiders frogs bats .Like the goanna it too nests in a hollow high up more often than not in an angophora.

 

 A top bar hive has moved into the garden standing proudly in  front of a grevillea hedge . This year was named as the year of the hive by John and as we approached spring he realised he had to pull his finger out and make it happen. We have had hives here long past when children were small and energy was high – along with chooks geese and guniea pigs -along with pigs goats orchards and vines. Way back in the time of starry eyed plans of sustainable living. Nowadays we plunder the wire netting from the chook yard for other projects – the bee boxes are stacked up in the shed and/or we find other uses for them and the wattles have taken over the orchard.

Aaahhh but we all remember the taste of our honey and the waxy chewing gum.

      This is a more bee friendly hive resembling the Kenyan model -lovingly and painstakingly built by John over many days and weeks- now it is waiting for the swarm that has been ordered.

        Australia has about 1500 native bee species of which 10 are stingless and we do have a little 3-5mm black stingless bee living here. It too enjoys  the hollows of our trees. I am looking to identify how many other species of native bee call this forest home.

 

 Jess sang out – a dead silver eye lay on the verandah with not a mark on it. ‘It must have crashed into the window’ I said as I cradled it gently and reverently in my hands. Funny these hands are old and wrinkled now worn of long use and inlaid with black – dirt that does not wash out anymore. Once I scrubbed and scoured until the realisation came that I am returning to the Earth even as this little bird has done.

      More formally their name is white eye because of a conspicuous circle of white around their pupil. Off setting the white circle is a ring of black against an olive green head and grey to buff underbelly. At only 11 -13mm they are eye catching and delightful flocks in the garden. Their nest is a teeny basket made of grass moss hair and woven with spider web suspended from  a branch  sometimes as high as five metres up. I see the nest when a wind brings it to the ground. They feed on insects berries fruit and nectar especially loving fig season – when the figs are big enough they are able to hop inside them and eat them out.

       I hand the silver eye over to Kingston and he cries as he holds it . The learning of death comes hard to us all and this is a beginning of that journey for him. After a while he spots an empty pot on the steps of the verandah. Whatever plant was in it has long been wallaby eaten and now there is only a ceramic bunny rabbit with a red ribbon around its neck left. Gently he eases it in and calls on the bunny to take care of it until he next comes down to visit.

‘The eagle wont get it ’ he asks all bottom lip quivery and eyes shining tears.

I have looked and it is still there though collapsing further and further ..

 

belonging means to be rightly placed – in the old English it means ‘at hand , together with’ and I feel like I belong here with silver eye and goanna with wallaby and angophora.

 

to practice belonging I watch I listen I breathe

and I follow

…….