the baby is crying
he woke up in a right snit I tried to take him but he rejected me soundly with ‘real’tears on his cheeks, only mum would do. and that is life is it not? sometimes we just want what we want even if we dont know why or what that is and sometimes, nothing, not even mum can make it better. and then suddenly out of the blue a water skink ducking behind the stove or snitching a crumb off the floor or the sharp crack of the whipbird just outside the window breaks the spell and he is chuckling again, the torment is forgotten. there is exclamation,wonder arises. a squatting to see, a head cocked listening, an engagement again with the world. all is right and sometimes we never know what the problem was. the art of wonder what is this thing we call wonder? eyes as big as saucers , mouth open struck dumb, spellbound, gob smacked, lost for words, beyond words, awed surely a transcendent moment but maybe not, maybe a point of surprise maybe just something really ordinary but out of context. and then there is the verb form of wonder I wonder what is going on for the bebe to cry so hard and not want my loving attention I wonder why he is out of sorts. I also wonder why people poison blackberries when I have just made 17 jars of wild lush as jam. So on the one hand I am filled with wonder lying against the trunk of the kurrajong looking up thru latticed branches to a star studded night sky, and on the other, I wonder how people can mine the hills and valleys, shoot the wallabies and wombats and woodchip our forests. I wonder when we will grow up, collectively speaking and safeguard our nest, but mostly , I wonder how the spiders build such finely embroidered webs. this morning we walked with baby thru the early misted forest, sun beams casting shade and highlighting the millions of webs strung in branches and grasses, some circular and some heart shaped some tattered like old lace and others perfectly wrought. It is all a wonder to me this planet and so are you…
the faerie embassy 