The Honeyeater



It was dark when I woke an hour before the freight train rumbled by at 6 am, less than a kilometre away.  I lie in bed and enjoy the vibration.  I know all is well.  This is my life.  This is familiar.

The honeyeater outside my chalet door in Merredin, Western Australia, is not.  Smaller than the ones I have in my garden, in the softest dawn light, his call is insistent and sweet. Under a harsher light, he is ordinary. Like me. In a garden filled with flowers, he knows what he wants. And, he is quick to seek it.

For a brief moment, he is silent and still.  So am I.

We share the same space.  Trust is a fragile intimacy.

I blink.  The camera clicks.  His company is fleeting, reinforcing the reality I face each day. I have no nectar.

His flight is as silent as unrequited love.  I look away from the camera.  I can only smile, because, he was once there.

Here’s hoping a memory makes you smile today. I know mine has.

Until next time,

As always,

A dawn bird

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