Hunger rides the wind,
watching for the flicker of
small life far below.
Tag Archives: birds
Hunger rides the wind,
Flanked by an escort
in full dress uniform
– blues and brilliant red – Continue reading
Cocky, cocky screaming loud
sulphur crest raised high and proud,
what immortal hand or eye
did make a thing with such a cry? Continue reading
The westerly that has flowed,
cooling and caressing,
lulling us through the small hours,
has warmed already,
heated by its passage
across the already baking land. Continue reading
For weeks they have circled the clearing,
pausing at each compass point
to claim their territory with a raucous laugh,
defining its borders with their mirth.
Now with a hoarse uncertain chuckle –
soft grace notes dropped into their song –
their duet has become a trio,
and their joyous laughter fills the forest.
The dawn chorus begins…
Magpie song flows
a clear, bright stream Continue reading
With a shriek
the sky splinters,
a dawn-white shard falls,
sulphur crest rising
like a glimpse of sun.
At my feet,
an eviscerated hen,
intestines spilling out.
breaking the silence,
a fledgling wedgetail
calls to be fed.
Thanks to FV for the trigger to write this – turquoise eternity.
These are the first three of a flock of origami cranes that I’m painting on the wall of one of my son’s room. The plan is to have a flock in rainbow colours, starting with a blue one perched on a railing, and the rest flying up the wall. I haven’t painted in the railing yet, but I felt like painting cranes today so I started with the flying ones. It wasn’t possible to get all three in shot at once, so here they are separately. You’ll just have to imagine them arranged in an approximate diagonal line going up the wall. The aqua is the lowest, then the green, then the yellow one is up high on the door, and currently the leader of the flock. The plan is to add an orange one, then a red, then a violet, then a dark purple one.
The dawn variety show commences,
opening with a magpie solo,
followed by the crows’ comedy routine
at which the kookaburras laugh heartily.
Next it is wattle birds turn.
He takes the stage with confidence
but mutters through his book review,
only raising his voice to call clearly
“Nabakov! Nabakov!” and depart in indignation
at the ignorant chattering of the finches.
They chatter too through magpies next song,
but currawong’s call for an encore
– seconded by raucous cockatoo –
is gracefully acquiesced to.
And thus the show concludes,
and the day begins.