I wish I was immune to the gentle grace of the swamp wallaby, to all seven of them feeding around our house on dusk and all the other relos that know this forest as home. I wish my heart didn’t lurch with tenderness to see the babies scramble out of the pouch turn a somersault and tumble back in or the teenager that races up to pounce upon Dad and playfully box for a minute or two.
they are devouring all that I once held precious, all that I considered important and MINE . the chives attempt to return from their winter dreaming only to be snipped off as soon as they poke their heads up.
I wish I could be immune to the ballad sung by the magpie. I wish I thought they were common birds not worthy of attention, a bird lacking the vibrancy of others somewhat like those dreary old black and white movies that we no longer watch. I wish the rise and fall of the piercing harmonies the building melodies and the kooky caroling did not move me into awe .
perhaps then I would not be pulled out of my dream at 5. 30 when only a pinch of light is offering. I would not be serenaded in the middle of my yoga practice to drift off with the lyrics and soar .
the ground of this forest is splatted heavily with scats wallaby possum kangaroo bandicoot bush rat python pigeons owls honeyeaters and swallows. these days the wombat deposits its business directly onto the compost heap.
I wish I could be safe from the huge well of love that blooms in my body when my grandson launches himself clasping torch turned on into our bed in the still darkish morning and our bodies melt into each other.
perhaps if I didn’t love this being so much I could escape the haunting story of dwindling fresh water and rising carbon levels in our atmosphere.
I wish I didn’t skip for joy to see the young whale breach out of the water just off the headland at Bermagui Beach its mother close by.
perhaps then I wouldn’t give a toss about huge plastic islands and toxic nuclear spills contaminating their ocean home.
I wish I didn’t care about the neighbours shooting every creature that dares to trespass on their paddocks and I especially wish I didn’t care that our leaders demonize asylum seekers and punish them for escaping to a safe harbour.
Love joy reverence wonder fills us and blows us out of our minds.
when we return we can see our wake and then the pain of loss and destruction whams us.
to care implies responsibility
to feel passionately without reserve intensifies the pain.
and I wish that John and I could stop high fiving each other in absolute glee to be living in a house free ( ish ) of rats and flies.