fence
Dear Ciara,
No birds come to the bird feeder. It hangs, heavy with seed, hour by hour, time passing thought it as the wind passes through the branches of a she-oak tree. I will have to move it somewhere more visible, or perhaps I need to change up what I am putting in it. I am so used to the birdlife of NSW—despite having lived in Tropical Queensland for nearly two years now—that I assumed what worked for me down there would work for me here. A moral failing of mine. As I’ve said previously, many of the birds up here feed on insects or nectar. I plan to buy some dried mealworms tomorrow to see if that works.
Rocco awoke me from my midday nap. Sparrows had passed by the window, and he wished to sing loudly for them. Startled, I dragged myself outside to defog my mind with a mixture of sunlight and Kate Llewellyn. I am reading Burning, which I’ve had for a while now, but have yet to touch. When I tell people that Llewellyn is my favourite writer, yet that I also have not read all her work, they are often astounded. I then proceed to tell them that I am taking my time with her bibliography, allowing myself to suck at each morsel as though it were gobstopper. I have just ordered a collection of her essays, one of the few of her texts I’ve yet to read. After this, I will only have her travel diaries to go. I find myself drawn to her writing as the end of the year approaches. She always offers words of wisdom ready for the New Year.
The sunlight is golden now. A honeyeater passes by and The Organist has returned with wine. A dip in the pool is needed, I think. Willie is swooping two peewees. They both take off startled, up and over the fence. The fence feels poignant; within the confines of it is my own private world, and what lays outside, well—I cannot begin to fathom what lays beyond right now. It feels as though it is just me and the garden and the birds.
How has your day been?
The song for today is:
Birthplace — Novo Amor
I have been revisiting Novo Amor’s discography these past few days. I find the way he writes lyrics very interesting. He builds almost a landscape of words. A man of my own heart.
Love,
The Gardener