I heard her before I saw her. I had no idea what the sound was until later. She was grooming her quills with big sweeping strokes in the dead of night.
Early morning I stepped outside my hut to a soft sunrise in harsh Kimberley country. She was magnificent! Instinctively, she stopped. An icon in iconic country. I took her picture.
I learn her name over a campfire breakfast. I had to stifle my grin. Marilyn!
Some may regard it as an incongruous name for this big flightless bird. But, she is a star. She’s equally beautiful, standing tall on big feet or resting among rocks.
The most graceful thing about her is her walk. Slow, rhythmic with a deliberate sway that comes from being bottom heavy.
Transported to that moment, the sound of her strides my lullaby.
Until next time,
a dawn bird