The teasing promise of rain.

It’s hot. Damn hot.

So where is the rain?

The rain that brings forth life.

It’s not far now because the birds are all flying in – migrating from everywhere.

It’s the promise of rain that they come from far and wide. All differing kinds. The proud Jabiru’s. The noisy Magpie Geese – that if you listen to their honking of many you can hear them say ‘hello’. They even have their own rap groups. Some even honk with jazz-like Sinatra tunes. Then there’s the silent and unfussed Egrets who somehow mix in with the broods, white, black, grey. The ducks – if you’re lucky you get to see them too. And how they’d all love to dance in the rain.

If there was some rain.

The incoming squadrons of perfect ‘V’ formation of flocks to make any air force jealous. For they bring perfection to flight. The feather winged warriors jet lagged from wherever it is they land with ease here and you can hear their collective sigh of relief like many passengers in any airport terminal.

You have the pairings of many. Life time mating’s and some still spreading their wings. The families, friends and those relatives you argue with too come along. The old the very young all come in all shapes and forms and colors.

But they come – in hope for the rain?

Yet they grace our skies so blue clear and smog free. But now we see the first sign of clouds that tease us of the change of season.

Do those clouds tease us with the promise of rain?

Or is it the birds know something we don’t?

The abundance of colored feathers we’re blessed with, of those you hear first before you see. Many versions of lorikeets, the colour of the rainbow – if it ever rained. There’s the parakeets, the ring neck ones there too. All hidden amongst the foliage of the leafy trees. Camouflaged so well that their greens and oranges match the color of the ripening mangoes. You know they’re there from their screeching singing and calling amongst themselves and spreading their opinions on many. But I don’t hear the words – all I hear is their bird calling rant. That laugh of the collective from the best joke ever – the one you wish they’d share with you too.

Are they calling for the rain too?

Mangoes trees that bring so much life. They smell so ripe now, nearly dripping off heavy laden branches with such abundance. But that fruit, marks the beginning of the change of season. The bringing of the birds, the flocks of plenty. That all come here to feast and harvest in this sanctuary, away from the hunters a field. Yet here they regale, squawk and set up residence temporarily. Feasting on so much they roll around on the ground, blind from the overindulgence of intoxication on the juiciest of fruit that many a wine maker would aspire to. They party here from dusk to dawn moving into the shadows to hide from the sun looking to the clouds in the heavens above that tease of rain.

But where is this rain?

Like many who come to this great land on two legs, be it feathery population race of many – yes they too have two legs although they have webbed feet. Yet there are too many to describe of the types of birds that visit my backyard. Watching the plovers take on those that are ten feet taller. Curlews with their young. Ducks waddle in hope of water to wade in. Lorikeets and colorful parakeets that show off their plumage of plenty and more. So many more like its Grand Central Station for feathered friend and words out, party happening in my backyard – but somehow I missed that memo.

The possums amongst the bats watch on this passing parade of day squawkers, no idea how it is they sleep from the racket this transient partying population brings. But they own the night to feast on what is left over while those of the day-walking feathered kind who dance amongst the mangoes where this is the land of plenty for all.

And the green frogs have awoken and have also started singing for that rain. They’re awake now. Teased up from their hardened slumber ready to dance in the rain.

But like all others, we’re still waiting for the rain?

Can’t help but wonder the parallels of nature of the natural to the now created and growing place this is.

The territory with its feast of magnificence of wildlife. The prehistoric beasts of prey, the crocodile that is the perfect tourism token, the newspaper headline grabber. But they have been here forever.

But it’s the birds who sum up this magical wonderland of what it truly is. For the many species of birds are like its own people, nomadic. Always were as tribes who travelled from place to place across this land.

Today, it’s still the same. Like the tow-legged birds, the two-legged people from many tribes come to this land from interstate and across the seas.

Just like the birds they come in for landing.

The flocks that dance, sing, play and feast are just like its people.

A wonderful magical mix of multi-cultural beauty – most of us all on two legs dancing for that first rain.

That if we opened our eyes to see the color they bring.

Used our ears to hear the sounds of their differing songs and stories they sing and share.

Opened our hearts you too would love this land true.

Maybe it’s something we can learn from the birds, no matter what or where or how we came to be here, we chose to be here and for most of us it’s home. For the time being….

If only it would rain?


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