I have been waiting for the muse for a while – yep close to a month since I last ventured forth
and then I thought I would put out some stories that for some reason or another didn’t hold up to the light of day
and so as darkness falls here and the night comes closer
I offer a story called
The light of day
Dawn snuck into my room jumped up and down on my bladder and pulled me into awareness.
to my reckoning it was still dark.
Go away I murmured.
I am snuggly.
I am dreaming .
the urgency increased and I was forced to get up.
The grass was wet underfoot and from a squat I raised my head to the star-studded cast of players in the sky.
Almost a blush, a hint of light but not really enough to take it seriously, I returned to my nest of sleepy warmth.
But the scout heralding dawn had already snatched me from the dream and there was no return.
I listened then – wondering if anyone else was awake – and very faintly heard a few soft tentative tweets.
then a melody rippled thru the air and into my bedroom leaving me in no doubt that day was on its way.
the ancient song of awakening as channeled by the magpies.
It seems that we get so caught up in indigenous sovereignty and rights of humans that we forget all that has occurred to make this world absolutely and perfectly suitable for our existence.
We have become so enthralled in the human story that we disregard the forms that birthed us onto the planet.
consider the genesis of oxygen ,the division of the cell, the chlorophyll molecule
from an inhospitable environment human wise so many things had to happen for us to be able to live here.
And in the grand scheme of the birth of life onto this earth we have only been here a very short while.
Walter Boles from the Australia Museum unearthed fossil bones in south-east Queensland of a song bird that has given rise to the notion that songbirds were singing on this continent 54 million years ago and that the present day magpie is its offspring.
what else can I do but get up and join in to one of the most remarkable moments of the day.
The sun clearing the curvature of the earth and casting its light onto our dark world.
Suddenly the orchestra swells to include the grey shrike thrush ,butcher bird , yellow robin, whip bird, the wren that will later skip about on our verandah picking up crumbs, eastern spinebills wattle bird – they all have a voice at dawn.
The faded wishy-washy colour in the sky crystallizes into a searing blue of possibilities and continuance. Dogs from neighbouring farms stir rattle their chains and cough off the night. Cars trucks bikes start up and the world begins.
I am standing out side the kitchen watching the glimmers of light fade up and the stars recede until there is only a sickle moon next to Venus and Jupiter in the northeast.
They are brilliantly lit in the suns beam and blink out even as I watch.
In houses all over this land alarms ring kettles are switched on, radios tuned in, the morning show on tele, cupboards open to reveal cornflakes and muesli, toasters pop up, drinks are stirred, showers turn on, instructions are shouted and children and adults move into their day.
And even though I have watched this particular show before, even though I have seen the pinks and butter yellows sweep onto the palette and even though I have heard the dawn chorus a zillion times I am still gob smacked
I am still in awe – this show that repeats itself every morning but is never ever the same.
I cannot contain it, nor write it nor draw it. It will not be captured except in some Clayton’s version of the real thing.
And the beauty of the moment is that if I care enough I can rise again and play a part tomorrow morning in this award winning drama.
But even if I don’t
it continues to do its thing anyway