wings of poetry

I found this one wing under a pile of dry gum leaves. It glistened. What fabulous shimmer of flight. I had to bring it inside. A treasure. Maybe what a writer needs is still that childhood delight of finding something so unexpected, so precious, waiting for the finder's map of discovery. A poem will come.

heat wave, pre bushfire

Only a day before the raging fires of Saturday 7th of February. These magpies are like a temperature gauge. They cluster along the front verandah with beaks open gasping in 40+ heat. We put a dish of water out and wonder what other cooling strategies are employed by other birds.