It's too warm in this place for bear. But the Australian's penchant for modeling their language and place names after the 'motherland' - ohh..that sounds a bit German - let's try after their whinging British progenitors, provides the suburb of my second home a British title.
And glad we are to be here in the warm. Two weeks ago when we drove away from Nordacotah, the temperatures were hovering in the minus teens. Here, for those of you who use fahrenheit, the temperatures average 80+ or —. Today I prefer the glow which is a constant reminder of humidity over the dry cold of the central North American prairie.
This morning I plotted sodoku numbers distracted by my attempt to count the various syllables of the Butcher Bird song. His/her repertoire is considerable. The pair who call our back garden home were busy conversing about a variety of subjects in the cool early morning. Their song is boisterous and engaging. One almost wants to join in, to add an aside here or there, to question the conclusions which the two have obviously come to before they fly off in search of a huntsman or golden orbed spider hidden away in the branches of the Morton Bay Fig apartment house that filters the blue skies for a quarter of a block in our vicinity.
It is good to be home, to be so distracted, to rise at 4:30 a.m. to share in the sounds of a million strong city waking on the eastern coast of Oz, to bask in abundance, to fight off the little black midges and the mosquitoes who wish to dine on my elbows.
This is the land, the culture, the haven about which I have written so many times. Watarrka Sunrise is my story of coming to terms with the expectations of this culture, of acceeding to Nathaniel West's cry, 'Go West, Young Woman, Go West.'
Kookaburra just entered the scene. Today is a prize winner.