Twynnie, it's like the Mona Lisa, I wouldn't stare at it for hours on end, ha ha, but I never get tired of seeing it.

🙂

The galahs turned up late in the afternoon, with their babies in tow...

How can I tell they're baby galahs? ha ha...

It's the near constant rasping noise... "Feed me! Feed me NOW!", ha ha...

They decided not to come down from the trees.

I took it that  there were a few too many cockatoos around and they'd thought it was a bit crowded down here.

On reflection, perhaps it wasn't their intention to come down, at all...

Perhaps they were showing the young birds "This place" - if you come here, you'll be welcome...

And fair enough, after all,  if they do, they will be, ha ha.

It's good, getting them to build a mental map of their neighbourhood.

It'll hold them in good stead for years to come, ha ha...

🙂

Yes, Stawks, that's the one I was thinking of... ha ha...

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One.. Two... Three... I thought I saw number four blue wren, happily hopping around on the small table opposite the kitchen window...

It was there a moment ago...

A sudden, shrill warble fills the air - Number four wren's on the kitchen window sill... "What are you doing in My kitchen!"... ha ha.

I don't own this land, it on lease to me, subject to an arrangement between myself, the Crown, and a family of tiny birds, ha ha...

Sometimes I wonder who I should hold in greater dread awe,...

Of course, I could probably solve the "What are you doing in My garden, kitchen, other location...?" problem by doing homage, and offering my fealty to them, ha ha...

It worked with the Crown - They never challenge my right to be here, ha ha...

That might well be the answer.... I guess I'd better brush up on my chivalric skills... ha ha....

🙂

Little possums, come around about the age of six months, get the urge to leave the maternal nest and strike out on their own.

By my none too steady calculations, 24 weeks fits into six months, or thereabouts... ha ha...

I think I'll have to name the next baby possum Alice...

That way I can say, when she moves away from mum's place, that for 24 weeks I was living next door to Alice.... ha ha.

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I stood in a blackened cathedral - the eucalypts towering above me...

The wind stirred small puffs of ash...

I listened, and slowly I heard the voices... "Water... water..."...

In this dead place there was life, yet...

The ants crawled across the scorched ground...

"Water... water..."....

And though my heart may have been broken a million times before that day, it broke once more...

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Oh ecar, you are such a delight ... 

"That way I can say, when she moves away from mum's place, that for 24 weeks I was living next door to Alice.... ha ha"

These little flashes of brilliance occur to me, sometimes, ha ha.

Though in honesty I should credit YouTube's "You're listening to this - You might like these suggested tracks" feature.

I was listening to Canned Heat's Going up the country, quite a popular tune on the radio back in the 70's.

It's one of the few genuine memories I have of that time, fond memories too.

And memories are precious.

I didn't make it this far without losing things, and unfortunately a lot of the past is a blank.

But I made it this far, so I s'pose it's a matter of swings and roundabouts.

I can't have it all, but I'm not about to complain (too much, anyway, ha ha) about what I do have.

Anyway, I can always turn to Jim Croce - Photographs and memories.

Sorry, I don't have a link for it, so you'll have to look it up for yourself...

🙂