we are sitting at the kitchen table this morning,

it is earlyish, the sun  still caught in our tree line sends a beam thru to splash the pinks golds and greens  of the stained glass windows over the table of porridge and toast, of teapots  cups and saucers.

speaking of teapots we all have our own preference in the mornings ; that is,  a pot for me usually the railway stainless steel 2 cuppa full of earl grey, Greg the brown betty also earl grey  and John  the genie teapot with madura . We have a  collection of cosies ranging from a  wild zany Bec crocheted one to vintage looped affairs with a doll on top done by my mum ,various op shop knits and a memorial goyder street library owl cosy.  take you pick  they are all gorgeous and have a story to tell.

when bec appears in the kitchen she  pulls out the one cup railway pot for a dandelion brew and Jess mostly sticks to a mug of something green.

elevenses changes all this around but that comes later.

John notices a honeyeater he hasn’t seen before , forgive us Rob if we get this wrong but out comes the book and I hover between reading and seeing glasses, my face alternately pressed against the glass and burrowed into the book.

Kingston yabbering and demanding to have the book of birds.

we identify the white eared honeyeater, a pair of them  lighting on the still bare fig , into the bottlebrush zooming off across the yard.

they all dart  dive and busy around so much I despair sometimes  of figuring out who they are and I really can’t see them that clearly anyway. I know binoculars are a bird persons best friend but they are an art form I have yet to master.

I just like that they are going about their lives John said this morning, I don’t really care what they are called .

I said to him yesterday can you show me again how to do the binocular thing? he didn’t quite roll his eyes but the implication was there and usually by the time I get it all sorted out the image I am chasing has disappeared .

this morning it is a roll call of who ‘s who in the garden . I forget about sitting down and stay tuned to the window Kingston standing on the chair next to me trying to open the window and prattling on.  a veritable chatterbox is emerging with the odd recognisable word thrown into the mix.

there are the upside down birds I point out better known as the eastern spine bills .  Next along came the new holland honeyeaters or is it the white eared honeyeater and perhaps we have both of them.  we check the book , yes the white eared has a white ear patch funny that and the new holland a white eye.  if we could only remember which is what John says.

a spotted pardolote flies past which gets us all excited for sightings are rare, like a dot painting flying they nest in the ground.  John thinks there is a nest up the track beside a fallen tree.  the usual friends were there, the wrens skipping over the  chairs on the verandah, the grey shrike thrushes inspecting materials in the garden,  the fire tails  having their version of muesli and a magpie has taken to stalking around the yard of late. the grey fantails are excitedly flashing their fans at us, look at me look at me. and we do. and we do.

greg  goes out to chop number twos  when lighting stanley in the morning,  that is, the second size up from kindling and before the more chunkier blocks  are put on. often there is  a yellow robin waiting on the verandah post directly above the chopping block  ready to grab a grub  out of the split wood.

it is the wrens and the robins that have the most intimate contact with us, the wrens because we put out breadcrumbs on the verandah but even if we didn’t they are always under our feet  because lets face it crumbs have a habit of dropping to ground and they are not unknown at frequenting the kitchen benches either.

yesterday a thornbill ran into the window ,Bec picked the wee thing up  and tucked it under her jumper until it recovered a little. so light she said she couldn’t really feel it in her hand.  are they the tiniest bird on the block?  we think so.  after a while Bec placed it in the daphne which is coming to the end of a most magnificent blooming season.

the daffodils are still taking their brilliant turn and wild clematis is beginning to peep out. the pink peach blossoms are doing it and a black snake slides thru the wood pile before disappearing into the couch. in the roof bush rats squeak and chase each other and we wonder where the python is.  last night greg suggested the rats are using the python as a draught excluder for the august winds are gusting hard into us .

we have extended  our garden enclosure ; we need more wallaby possum proof room for our veggies as the creatures  explore and diversify their eating habits.  While working at it the other day I noticed a pair of yellow robins  canoodling  on a branch of a peppermint tree, sure enough one hopped on  the other and then leapt off again.

the air is thick with birds making out . tthe migrants have returned and the dawn chorus has become  louder , there is the usual politics  of territories and bush ownership

we have taken to having  our morning tea at a table near the large angophora , an umbrella thank you glen gives those of us who have been busy in the yard a touch of shade and the studio workers  can sit in full sun.

elevenses is an organised event here. It is a point in our day when we will all come together with coffee pot  cake and fruit; the oranges that I picked early  before the possums could take them all have been juicy bliss bombs.

sometimes we catch up on our dreams and visions,

sometimes we make dates for communal activities to take place.

and  always we love where we are, in the middle of a vibrant forest full of winged activity.