It is Saturday in some parts of the world. Just like it was here last night when the playlist, a good one, drifted over the fence and the beer flowed through the loud laughter from next door. This morning the laughter was pure, pure koookaburra, as a group of them sat on a nearby gum tree shattering the silence of Sunday morning.
I was born to the sound of birds, my mother told me. Is this why I ‘come alive’ whenever I hear bird song? I’d like to think so. In the Kimberley you get all kinds of unfamiliar bird song. And, sometimes, there’s just silence. The predatory birds are silent. The rainbow bee catcher is one of them. The rainbow bee catcher is also quite unperturbed by human company. So I stayed with it for a while. Or, perhaps, it was the other way around.It would hunch up just before launching off when it spied an insect in flight or hovering over the billabong.The markings are gorgeous. Yet, the bird blends into the surrounds.I usually find them high in the tree tops. Alert and watchful for the next tasty morsel.So you would have excused my squeal of delight at finding this young one not far from the billabong among leaf debris.To wake to this!
It is a grey Sunday here. The kookaburras are now silent. In that quiet space I’ve found a rainbow and memory.
So I thought I’d share the moment with you.
Until next time
a dawn bird