The Magpie

I awoke to the sound of magpie warbling in the morning dark. The trees outside were quiet and the low rumble of a rubbish truck circling the  sleeping suburbs could be heard faintly in the distance. I'm not sure if my eyes and mind had opened or not. Like the grey light peeking over the line of rooftops out the kitchen window,  I was swimming up to consciousness in the half light,  aware of the Magpie's song.

  Moving this far south has brought us closer to nature, yet further from that part of me that took so long to grow on its surroundings, like a slow, creeping ivy. The familiarity of blue stone, asphalt and factories, I never thought would be so comforting.

Pelicans and Kites

 I gaze into the middle distance as I cut my way along a straight ribbon of bitumen for two hours a day. Basalt plains that flatten the mind. Landscape that flattens the perspective and soars with muted winter hues. I cross the border lands between two ancient tribes. Crows and magpies are a constant presence everywhere but now also Pelicans are a regular feature,  coming into view on the horizon, in flat formation cruising low enough almost to touch. Small raptors of some sort populate the bitumen's edge and the median strip aswell. Hovering with their dart like talons extend toward the earth. Occasionally one appears in the rear view mirror, wings aflutter. Then,  its wings stop. It hangs there momentarily, before plummeting like a spear towards its unseen prey.