I have not done one of these posts for a while but I took a few bird photos this month so here is another.

A flock of around 30 Musk Lorikeets hung around for a few days at the beginning of this month. They chattered from the tops of the gum trees in our property and swooped through the blue sky, moving to another tree. One group chattered and climbed in the dead branches at the top of the tree the galahs ring-barked.




We don't often see the Musk Lorikeets, which may be because they are not around most seasons but also because they blend in so well with the leaves even if they are there. They also sound similar to both Rainbow Lorikeets and Rosellas. So I may not even think to look and notice they were different. I was quite happy to catch a few in flight, which as they go so fast is quite difficult. Parrots are one of my favourite birds, they are so pretty and I really like it when I catch a glimpse of their colours flashing through the trees.

A few days after I got some photos of the Rainbow Lorikeets I heard another flock of birds in the tree, I can just see the top of it out the window, above my desk. This time Galahs filled the branches. The Galahs are not so special, as I see them flying over every day and all year around. They also ring bark trees and branches and those branches die and fall off and the trees also die just like the top of this one. Still it is amazing when a huge flock of the birds swoop low over me so that I can feel the wind of their passing.

Do you have any favourite birds?

I saw this poem the other day and thought that I must never forget how to be a little girl, or at least not for a long time yet. I don't know who to credit this lovely poem to, because where I found it the name under it was Margaret Fishback Powers, but in another place Henry Alfred Dixon. Maybe it was another who really wrote it, I don't know. Most sources say Anonymous. But whoever it was that wrote it I am glad they did.

This poem made me think. We are so often in a rush, from one thing to another. We don't stop, we are not often still. God has given us so many things, small moments to enjoy. It is easy to grow to old and not stop to look at the world through the eyes of a little girl. But here is the poem, so you can read it before I continue.

I experienced one of those rare magic moments today. I felt as though a portal to some fantasy place had opened for a minute. The experience just seemed too wonderful to belong in this worlds realm. It was kind of like a glimpse of heaven.

Here is another post of photos for those who wanted to see more photos of the pocket watch. I hope you enjoy them as much as I enjoyed taking them.

I drove past a house the other day and it inspired me to write, this;

Once this was not a sad little house, I am sure. Once a man, or maybe more, laboured on its foundations. Each wooden slat, cut and placed by loving hands. With joy and laughter, looking forward to a brighter future, this house rose up from the steep hill. Finally the wife arrived, the furniture, and the corrugated iron for the roof. It rumbled up on a slow moving wagon, drawn by a team of oxen, maybe. Maybe they had trudged the tree boarded track up the mountains for days, weeks.

Once, maybe once, the young wife ran up and into her husbands arms,  so glad that they were together again. So glad of the beautiful house, a house of her own, with wooden boards to sweep the dust from. Together they would make this their home, possibly.

As the rain fell, it drummed down on the roof, horrendously noisy, but they sat together, knowing that the house was solid built. It would not blow away, or collapse like a tent of canvas. Maybe soon after that children could have come.

Once they could have leaped off the bottom step and run down the slope, crossing over the fallen tree that bridged the creek, and jumped into their fathers arms as he arrived home. Did he come from taking their cattle to market? Or selling the furs of the animals he trapped? Or from the homestead where The Boss lived? 

Other times the children could have run with buckets down to the bubbling mountain stream and tried to catch the little mosquito fish, that darted through the clear water. Little trousers, or skirts, hoisted high. Maybe muddy little feet ran back up the hill to show Mother their prizes. Or maybe they fished out the fat black tadpoles, and kept them in a jar, watching as they grew legs, squiggly tails shrank and then disappeared. 

Once upon a time, long ago, many things could have happened in and around that happy little house. House of promises, hopes and dreams, once. Now though, it sits a weathered grey. On a hillside, far from anywhere, a dull house rots, silent except for the clatter, bang, and scratch of the rusted iron roofing, that has now come loose. Each gust of wind, pulls at the house, and it succumbs, sinking away, slowly returning to dust, and memories.

What memories it must hold though, if only I could hear it speak. If only the creaks, could, be interpreted, or the language of old things found out. But the people who lived there once, have gone, grown old and died. Maybe the children still live on somewhere, I wonder have they forgotten, the once happy little house on a hill. Or are they no longer, here to be able to remember, have they too passed away. I do not know, but I wonder, what does that sad little house remember?

To read of and glimpse the first part of the day read this post. For the second part, all you have to do is continue on. 

I have set mine eyes upon snow twice in my life. Just a week ago the second time came around. At the beginning of the day we were rather in doubt as to whether the weather would be horrid or not. The predictions spoke of rain, and we did not even know if there would be any snow left, from all the falls on the weekend when everything on Barrington Tops had got covered in a heavy shroud of snow. We set off despite all dire predictions, as we had planed... well rather spontaneously the night before.

The juices in my mouth stopped squishing in sweet flavoursome bursts at every chew and no longer slipped smoothly down my throat to fill my stomach in a satisfactory way. The soft pulpy fruit turned hard after a few mouthfuls and the liquid that ran from it, down my arm, began to feel sticky and dirty. 
I chewed harder; my teeth grating together, with a gulp, another mouthful of the fruit scratched its way to fill the pit of my stomach, sharp edges catching at my throat. Yet I cannot stop. My jaws keep working and again I swallow... I swallow what feels like rocks picked up from beside a path, gravel. 

11th October 1943 A British spy plane crashes in Nazi-occupied France. Its pilot and passenger are best friends. One of the girls has a shot at survival. The other has lost the game before it's barely begun.

As I stole out of the house and down the silent streets a poem by Banjo Paterson echoed through my head. I memorized it years ago and it came flooding back as it played out in real life before me.

Sunrise on the Coast A.B. "Banjo" Paterson

Grey dawn on the sand-hills -- the night wind has drifted

All night from the rollers a scent of the sea;

With the dawn the grey fog his battalions has lifted,

At the call of the morning they scatter and flee.

Like mariners calling the roll of their number

The sea-fowl put out to the infinite deep.

And far over-head -- sinking softly to slumber --

Worn out by their watching, the stars fall asleep.

To eastward, where resteth the dome of the skies on

The sea-line, stirs softly the curtain of night;

And far from behind the enshrouded horizon

Comes the voice of God saying "Let there be light."

And lo, there is light! Evanescent and tender,

It glows ruby-red where 'twas now ashen-grey;

And purple and scarlet and gold in its splendour --

Behold, 'tis that marvel, the birth of a day!

Yes it is only Autumn, technically, but yesterday Winter pushed her away and arrived in a gale, weather (yes that is deliberate) to stay or not I don't know, I suspect Autumn will return for a while though, before winter truly takes hold. The day before we had a lot of rain but only yesterday did we get the winter air... I couldn't really get a photo of the wind or Winter so here is my best with words and some photos of the rain and hail the day before. 

This is not really a poem, but neither is it quite normal prose either.... but hopefully it will paint a picture with words for you anyway.

Winter Came Today

In a wall of rushing wind winter came in, no slow creeping cold, but with full force he charged in to claim victory. Autumn fled. Winter roared; sounding like the pounding of a great waterfall. He came howling through the leaves, thrashing at the world, beating it to pieces, like a waterfall beating at the rocks it falls upon, wearing them away. Trees tossed their heads branches flying, manes of battle chargers, standing against the onslaught. 

Grass bends, ripples, as though rank upon rank of light footed, invisible, soldiers pass over it. Winter tugs at the chargers manes, bits of hair tear loose, branches come crashing to the ground. Leaves and strips of bark fly through the air, shrapnel. 

Like plumes of smoke, or gas, clouds scud across the troposphere. Grey and green tinged they fly, obscuring the sun for a moment. Light flickers, a morse code, sun flashing out from the clouds and being hidden again. Bright, bringing a little warmth, off, on again, off longer this time, cold settles, clouds part, they come together. Long, long short, short long, dazzling light, then obscured by grey. 

Trees sway as Winter stretched out his long fingers, groping at the trunks until they bend, and bend. They straighten trying to stand, then bend towards the ground, hunching like old, crooked backs. Bark and leaves are stripped away leaving trees standing bare and naked to face the tempest. The cold of winter returns with the clouds.

The great tall ones reach out their arms as if to hold back Winter, but instead it rushes, past and through, an insubstantial, uncatchable thing. The cold sets in, biting wind. It rasps through trees, around houses, down throats, so cold it makes me catch at my breath, lest it take that too. I stumble as Winter hits.

Day 8 Sunday: Obviously I didn't do washing today, because it is Sunday.  

Day 9 Monday: I had to do two loads today. And I also ended up having to use about 15 PINK pegs because I ran out of blue ones… really not good. I got both loads out early before it got really hot, but the sun still burned down when I got them in at about 5:30. I sorted them out while listening to an audio book.

Day 10 Tuesday: I only had to do one small load today. The only thing is it still smells smoky outside, as it has all day. I hope it does not make all the washing smell. Alice got it in today, while I made tea and since the air just smells so much like smoke we have all got used to it…..

Day 11 Wednesday: The washing could have been rather interesting today except I found the book in the pile as I was putting it in the washing machine. I almost wish I had not found it… I am rather interested to know what a book would be like after being through the wash…. And what the washing would be like…. It was only one of Ann’s books… and I suspect that is how it got there.

Day 12 Thursday: There were not enough dirty things to put on a load.

Day 13 Friday: There was quite enough today. I put on one load then a few minutes later my dad asks what the odd noise is. I say it’s probably the washing machine. Then I think; wait why would the washing machine be making odd noises? There is this dull thud thud thud coming from the laundry….. not that there is much I can do about it. About half an hour later a great crashing and clattering starts…… When I pull the clothes out of the machine (FYI ours is a front loader) I also find a very large and very clean black rock…. As I hang out the washing I also pull out a small piece of stick. The day is cool and the clouds are grey so we shall have to see if anything gets dry. Luckily nothing went wrong with the second load except for the fact that it didn't get dry properly…..

Day 14 Saturday: Nothing unusual happened today…. And if I recall rightly Alice helped me get today's washing in. Then I sorted out both yesterdays and today's while listening to part of an audio book.

NOTE: We actually fold our washing as we get it in…. I know some people do not. The only times we don’t is when we have to get it in really fast like when it is about to rain. The folding of washing as it is got in results in less crinkled clothes, and therefore less ironing. 

My Mum had decided that this month I am responsible for getting all the washing done. This entitles, getting it out of baskets into the laundry, then from the laundry into the washing machine, then hung out and got back in again, all dried and folded, and finally putting it into piles and those piles in their respective rooms. I can’t decide if this will be simple or not, I think I shall leave that judgement for later. 

As to why I am writing about it, well I am a writer…. And I like recording stuff. I could also end up learning a few things while doing this month of washing. So feel free to read it, but washing only has a certain amount of amusingness, so feel free to skip it, but I shall try wringing all the amusingness in there out. Of course if it gets too boring I will stop posting this log, so tell me what you think. Do you help doing the washing for your family?

Day 1 Sunday: It is Sunday so no washing is done.

Day 2 Monday: I put on a large load of all the dirty washing in the house. Outside the sky is grey and we had 10 mm of rain on Sunday. I didn’t even think of checking in the boys pockets until the washing had finished. I pulled about a handful of rocks out of the washing machine. A few were large but most were almost small enough to fit through the holes in the washing machine. I shook rocks out of clothes while handing the load out and banged rocks out of the basket at the end. 

NOTE: Check Pockets

Day 3 Tuesday: I wasn’t expecting quite so much washing to pile up… I did a full load again and had more left over. I forgot about hanging it out until almost 12, and I got Jane to help me then. I have decided not to do a second load today, hope that is a good decision…… maybe it’s not. Last night I also forgot to get in the last few things that were wet when I got the rest of the washing in. It is all sorted out and in peoples rooms now.

Day 4 Wednesday: NOTE: Don’t forget you put the washing on.

For it to dry you also need to hang it out…… if it is midday before you remember, there is the side effect of melting into the grass while you hang it out. If it is a hot day.... which it was.

Day 5 Thursday: I should actually try remembering to get the washing out of people’s rooms’ earlier otherwise it ends up much later before I can put the washing on. Meaning it will be later when it finishes. Meaning I will probably be doing something else when it finishes. Meaning I melted into the ground like yesterday.

I heard Mummy saying she was going to go get in the washing. So I told her she was not allowed. Because I had to tell people to do it or do it myself. (that was the deal, not sure what I get out of it though, except this) But she was going to take Ann out anyway so then I told her to get in the washing….. then I asked her to get it in….. and I sorted it all out afterwards. 

This is an example of when the loads of unsorted washing add up

NOTE: it is a much less daunting task to put away the washing on the day it comes in than leave piles of it in the hallway until everyone is too scared to do it. Especially if you can listen to an audio book while putting it away.

I don't think our hallway has ever been so empty most of the time....

Day 6 Friday: I learnt that sometimes washing hangs on the side of the laundry tub and Mummy wants that washed too…. Should have been obvious. I could have easily fitted those few more things in.

When I got the washing in today the basket felt like it held plain static electricity. If I moved my hand or arm over it my hairs would stand up. Some of the washing had been wrapped around two lines so there had been some wind, I do also rather jerk washing off the line…. Maybe that is why…. it is very hot and dry....

The top of the peg basket is now entirely blue pegs….. Yes I am a little weird about that….. I must use blue pegs and no other colour…. Unless I run out, and that is a dire circumstance.

Day 7 Saturday: I asked my mum if she could hang out the washing, because I knew I would not be there when it finished. Granny got it in and I sorted it out.

A light rain fell, speckling my already damp clothes. There were no shadows, just blackness, and one spot of light. The warm gold light, spilled a little way out into the darkness from the hall behind us. A wind blew straight through my damp clothes and lifted my heavy denim skirt off my legs. The wind brought a chill as it passed straight through me almost as if I were not there. Music swirled through the blackness. Making its way from the hall and out into the perpetual shadow of night, it also passed by me, as did the wind. The beat of feet on wooden floors thrummed faintly, mingled with the music, and came to me, out in the night. Shadows, rain, wind, light, and music all combined and caught me in their spell for a moment, holding me for eternity. Then a voice called me away. I left.

The world spread out before us, horizon on every side. From this height the curve could be seen plainly. Slowly the hills and valleys drifted past. The world looked smoother from far away. Winding watercourses were marked in squiggles across the land by the dark green trees, water reflected the deep blue of the sky. The sky that I was part of. Lives drifted past us. People driving down the highway, busily going on with normal life, while we passed unnoticed, overhead. Vineyards and paddocks patchworked the country side. Everything a shade of rain watered green.

It has been a rather crazy few weeks for my family, but in between everything we got to go flying. I had never been in any air craft before, so the experience was like no other. I guess it is also very different to being in a passenger plane. A lot different.

My sisters and I went up in a little four seater plane. From the airport we flew, following the highway back to our house. Then we returned to the airport, it took about half an hour.

I was not scared of flying..... just the not flying.... trust issue I suppose. But I survived. Actually, I totally forgot about the fact that the plane might fall out of the sky at any moment, or we would get lost, or crash land, or sizzle up in the sun or fly out of the atmosphere.... or be abducted by aliens. Yes, well actually, I didn't even think about that until afterwards. I had purposely not thought about it beforehand. 

Amazing, awesomeness, wow, I think that for a time I was just staring with my mouth open.

Then we flew over our town. I hardly recognized it at first. Everything looked so strange from the air.

Flying is learning how to throw yourself at the ground and miss. ~Douglas Adams

We could also see the ugly grey cuts in the earth as we flew over. I could see them even more from the sky than from the ground. They seemed smaller though, but then everything did. Then the plane banked and turned. The take off was fine and the landing, the banking though, well it was not so nice, I suddenly got to thinking about; how do these things actually stay up? In the next photo I am trying to hold the camera straight (in comparison to the aeroplane) ...... the horizon, well you can see, it is not exactly flat.... well it is flat but it has a great tilt to it and when I am so far above the ground that has a slightly disturbing effect.

Then the plane flew level again, through the blue sky over green paddocks. Isn't our God amazing to create all this! How beautiful it looks, I do wonder what land that had not been touched by man would look like though. We went flying at the perfect time, early in the morning and after two months of massive rainfall. All shades of green spread out below us. Each paddock differing slightly from those bordering it. The ugly grey scars of the mines really stood out though. It is such a pity they are necessary for our countries economy.

Below us, life went on.

We even flew through a cloud, not a huge one but enough that for a moment we were shrouded in grey. 

It seemed strange to be able to look down on other peoples lives; to look at their houses and all their property from above; to watch cars drive along the road, cattle, horses and sheep wander in their paddocks. 

I would do it again if I had the chance.

Have you been flying before?

In a big or small plane or in something else?

Did you like it? would you do it again?