When I answer the phone in my parents home, I am obliged first to answer these questions before any further business can be transacted. I don't always know the significance of the numbers, but I can look out the window and see the green carpet.
I noticed in town, the amount of rainfall is the single topic discussed. Jungian collective consciousness puts a spring in the step of those lucky to be the recipients of rain, while others' shoulders droop, betraying the fact that they are still waiting.
The air outside is steamy and the plains are hazy, heavy with moisture. The luxury can not be described. I walk out in the garden, working hard to make my way across the verdant lawn, watching for snakes - it's only a couple of days since one met Dad on the lawnmower. Roses show off in various garden beds and the crickets and frogs sing their noisy, cheerful chorus at any time of day. I look up at the trees where the koalas usually live, but none are about. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a brown creature with tall ears sitting very still. First I think it's a hare, but then it seems too big and I think it could be a small brown wallaby. I look again and realise it's a hare, gorging on the heavenly green. Its only moving parts are the jaws. It looks at me. I stay still and it continues the feast. Alfie, the Jack Russell, shows his age by showing no interest in a chase. Around another corner, brilliant red, green and blue parrots take flight as Alfie approaches.
A magpie gargles, singing the song that I love. It's the sound of morning in the Australian bush.
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| Mr Lincoln roses from the garden, fresh today. © 2015 divacultura |
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| Manchurian Pears © 2015 divacultura |
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| Beyond the fence post © 2015 divacultura |
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| Study in contrasts. I never tire of this majestic tree. © 2015 divacultura |
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| My favourite dead tree finally keeled over. I will miss it's Tim Burtonesque addition to the landscape. It still makes an interesting study. © 2015 divacultura |
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