The Passing of time – 20 January

It is the nearly the end of January and in the wetlands alongside the river, the heat has nearly dried up the water in them. Where just a few weeks ago, the Ibises flocked at early morning and early night fall to stride through the muddy waters, heads down, beaks down, finding their food, only a few gather now following the reseeding waters. The would nestle in the dying trees in the middle of the lake at night placing their long legs under them and folding their wings about them. Gone to are the ducks, that had been multiplying during the Spring and spent their days lazily swimming, and resting by the banks during the day. The male strutting around protecting his family,the growing ducklings becoming more daring, investigating the insects, gaining weight and growing. Where are they I wonder, I hope they are safe. The frogs too seem to have gone underground burying in the mud, under the green waving reeds, waiting, waiting for the rains to come again. Lily and I stand upon the small hill and look down at the scene with sadness and gradually make our way across the Troll Bridge, to the woods, and potter amongst the trees, observing the tall snow white gums, that stand naked – their winter bark littering the forest floor and stand and face the wind as we decide if we will wander across to the river. But today, it is hot, and we wander between the avenue of the Pine trees, wondering if the Devas are watching down upon us, and the fairies, oh yes there are fairies down her will show themselves this day but the magpies are too noisy and the mudlarks are nesting – the willy wagtails acting like soldiers, defending too their nests. The heat is rising and Lily is puffing, time to wander home and return at sunset. Life is like this, and we change too, perhaps unknown, but change we do, as the cells reproduce themselves, our attitudes change towards certain issues, and out bodies age – gradually, just like the wetlands – as we become a part of the ever changing cycle of life of birth, growth and rebirth. I quote to from ‘Doing Life,’ by Brian Dibble about the wonderful WA writer Elizabeth Jolley, who said as a preface in Chapter 2, “Perhaps the summers were remarkable because, in their difference, in their contrasting and in their confluence, they made one threshold. (Of Butchers and Bilberry Baskets,’. I particularly liked this lady’s writings, and shared some history with her, as she had come to Perth to live to spend life here, as she put it, as did I, from another State, another way of life, and also in the UK and the continent. But today I come a full circle, as I crowd in upon myself.

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