Summer frenzy…

Summer arrives with a blush… a rush of colour. Raven, magpie, sparrow and wren loudly proclaim the hatchling’s break out and columns of ducks, bill to tail, troop around the orchard and gardens, down under the gate and through the fields to the ponds, taking the little ones for their first ‘ducking.’

Hawthorn and rowan are finished flowering and tiny berries form. Elder is in full flower, their scent delicious.

There’s the sense of a rush of activity so as not to miss out on the season. Life in this little slice of wildling country is a joy but also a great responsibility and yet this alone brings up conversations had and specifically, with purists, who believe nature in Australia should only be indigenous to each region… I often reply… ‘Well sadly, birds and other creatures don’t recognise our boundary rules and if we were to remove every flora and designated ‘plant in the wrong place’ we would then have to remove all European edibles too, such as apples and cherries that too, grow wild in the region and are foraged by many in autumn for fruit preserves.’
Would they then resort to eating only bush tucker, I wonder? Our limited indigenous species would actually suffer more as a consequence and wild trees such as the aforementioned hawthorn, rowan and elder, if removed, would take away habitat and food from adaptive birds such as local parrots and lorikeet who thrive on their presence. Daily, we have lovely swamp wallabies visit to snack on rosehips when in season and… hmmmmm! A conundrum indeed but I guess, it’s another example as to why, as humans, we segregate ourselves into them and us by race, creed and/or religion.

Can we not simply live side by side and forge different ways to accept and even celebrate our differences, marvel at our diversity, instead of turning them into devastating wars that benefit neither persuasion. Then what would the warmongers do in their spare time if they can’t play top dog, one wonders? (I’ve not seen deer and kangaroo fight!) Perhaps the wealthy oligarchy might add a few million to help the starving and homeless and claim fame in that way… the fame they obviously, narcissistically crave?

There are moments in a day when things become translucent. When light falls specifically on one blade of grass, a water droplet, a bee’s wing, ripples on a pond… a fragile leaf. The world slows down, stills and white noise of the world falls away. All that’s left is the ebb and flow of life… a heartbeat song.

Senses stir

Ruffled fur

A bird floats

on a thermal

it cannot see

but feels

lifting its wings

A breath of air

A scent on the wind

A salty tang

An ozone explosion

Changing leaves

A changing song

A sultry breeze

Ripples on a pond

A falling feather

Forgotten bones

A place where

one feels the need

for silence

A chill on the skin

Ancestral walks

with kin

Trees whisper

in words

no longer understood

in the

forgotten language

found

in the dappled light

in the sacred wood

in the dreaming pool

of life itself

Life continues in cycles and circles… moon rises and sets, dandelion puffballs separate into tiny seeds and fly away on invisible updrafts… a kookaburra chick learns to chuckle and cackle, making me collapse into giggles and an Imperial Swallowtail sips on Buddleia nectar… did they all originate here? Do they fight amongst themselves? If they do it’s for survival, not from personal malice regarding being, looking, believing, thinking, differently.

Walk softly… celebrate diversity… Awen /|\

Warm wishes and blessings…

Penny