Another heron sighting-small grey blue,
down to the billabong for two dips, fishing in the clear water
ringed with pandanus.
Somewhere down there is a deposit of pink ochre; to color the air,
paint the skin, embellish the rock.
Learn and relearn: a yam is not a yam, it’s a hairbelt;
a stomach is not a stomach, it’s a dilly bag.
All are containers of spirit.
Cuckaburra concert tonight: how many birds to make
such a rich layered sound-three or three hundred ?
Thanks for the feathered symphony.
One more corner on the page to write about
wind and the absence of flies, the presence of birds.
In the beginning there was wind and sound and
a gathering of energy fields.
Dust became solid worlds with creator beings:
fly people, rainbow serpents, willy wagtail, teaching
the people to dance and laugh and sing.
