All I can offer is more green, I'm afraid. Here it is, illumined by the setting sun, just after eight this evening. I wish I could send you the birdsong. Waking up at the moment is a joy. My window is open to the sweet morning air and the birds. Now, I like the bird-calls in Australia, the cawing of the magpies. My soul feels at home in that sound, and as I try right now, with partial success, to remember what it sounds like, I can smell the Australian morning too, that dusty openness, the tang of eucalypts, the light spreading over the gum trees. But - I can understand why Europeans are non-plussed or unsettled by it. Here, the birdsong is pure as the voices of choir boys. It swells and folds with such sweetness, such clarity, for hours and hours. Francis Webb was on to something.
And then, just when you are used to the green, it all goes white.
3 comments:
I feel like I'm soaking your colours in through my skin.
Though we've had some rain here, so some of our left over blades of grass are green again. Mostly they're in the flower beds, but I can't bring myself to pull them out.
Beautiful green...
I would love to hear that birdsong...
Here the tropical birds are generally squawky, squabbly, spoilt and overfed...
I love them just the same...
But it is tiny brown finches that hide in the leaves, the yellow sunbird that dances near the verandah and the tame willy wag tail that hops around my hand as I pull out weeds, who thrill the most...
Oh this is fun - green shoots near Melbourne (yes, let them grow), and noisy and magical birds in Queensland - what a collection we have!
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