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.