Magpie; Barrawarn*
(*in Woi-Wurrung language)
Your only vague points of connection to them were the numerous swooping stories, by either their bird-selves or Collingwood supporters. Until one early morning, after a Dawn Service in January in St Kilda, this relationship changed. It became personal.
Barrawarn Barrawarn Barrawarn, it said.
Barrawarn Barrawarn Barrawarn, you said.
Barrawarn Barrawarn Barrawarn, it replied.
Your belly felt warm and your heart expanded.
You were never again afraid of their swooping. The nesting mums are just trying to protect their young, you thought.
Sitting in a park having breakfast a few weeks ago, you observed one of them. She was collecting worms to feed her young and you thought she was one of the most relaxed-looking mums you had ever witnessed. She never took the same route twice to come back to her nest, never in a straight line, always dancing in the air, one worm at a time.
Who are you, new neighbour?
There is a certain soundscape you recognise in your neighbourhood. In the morning, you are lucky to be woken up by the chirping of rainbow lorikeets (Dandan) and red wattlebirds (Yan-Guk) most days, except on windy days. And then you know something is up. Ravens (Waa or Waang) pass by too. The common indian myna (introduced) and noisy miner (Cooee-gang) hang around here too.
But this sound was new to your ear and that felt exciting. You could hear the ruckus a hundred metres away from the little park and that made you smile. Your cheeky smile stemming from the corner of your mouth grew larger until it could not be contained and turned into laughter. You looked around searching for those rare and magical moments when two strangers bond, but no new human-pair was formed. You looked up in the branches trying to locate your new neighbours but suddenly, they became quiet. You decided to move along and let them have their loudly secret conversation.
Magpie-lark; Dit-Dit
You went back to the park a few days later, having done some research and looking to confirm who your new neighbours were. You didn’t see any Currawong at first. The Dandan were doing their usual chirping and nibbling on nectar and pollen. A pair of smaller white and black birds were where you’d imagined the Currawong to be. None of them stayed on the branch for long. An unspoken rule seemed to be in place:
Dit-Dit, I am here, Dit-Dit, You go there, Dit-Dit, You are here, Dit-Dit, I go there; instructing their fluid movements from one side of the park to the other.
Then, it happened. The dance of two became three when Currawong joined the party. That was it, the new soundscape. New friends having a chat.
Currawong
You were so happy to finally meet your new neighbours. It was early morning and on top of the Dandan and Yan-Guk sounds, you could hear the beautiful song of the Currawong. They must be in the neighbouring tree, you thought. You sit down to start your meditation but never close your eyes. You cannot miss the chance to see your new friends. You observe the movement of the branches outside the window and suddenly one comes into the frame, and leaves it again. You step outside to get a closer look. Standing meditation it is. One, two, three of them. You can both see and hear them now. It’s your lucky day. You try to film them but every time you do, they stop. Sorry, friend, I hear you, you are free and I shall not try to capture you. You pursue your morning meditation and pages. You have met your higher self.
Morning page – Thank you letter to Currawong
‘This is your truth, your higher self’. Thank you, Currawong, for showing me, for coming with your friends. For not singing when I was trying to capture you. You are free. We are free. I am too. So much to learn by observing you and listening to you. You are yourself, not trying to sing like Yan-Guk, following your songline. Singing when it feels right to. At your rhythm. I love that there are more layers that I can now hear, wondering who they belong to. A growing morning orchestra. A bush choir enriching the soundscape. The serenades, cries and laughs. All of it. Sometimes in the picture frame, sometimes out. With the ability to be in when it’s right and fly out when it is time. Not bothered by an edge that never exists but following your songline, one delicious worm at a time.
Butcher bird; Waggara
We have not met yet, Waggara.
Two friends spoke of you and of your beautiful song within the space-time of half an hour. They both showed me your photo. Separately. They called you by your names.
Funny coincidence or a little bit of bird-magic?
Will be watching and listening for your signals…