Dawn Chorus
First – this is a sunset photo I took last evening as I ventured out on my daily walk and so it is not a sunrise. The mysterious folding back of used rain clouds which by this morning had vacuumed the sky clean was worthy of a photo. At around 6am this morning in Brisbane the sky was crystal clear as the orange opening transitions let the sun evenentually make its extroverted presence felt on a crisp autumn morning. Maybe the humidity has gone for a bit.
As I write, the radio and more news is off and I am listening to William Basinski’s September 23rd recorded initially in September 1982. It is just the right pace and sense for this writing about what always is a slow paced event.
I was up at 5am today, not my usual time but after watching Patrick Shen’s “The Dawn Chorus” on Vimeo last night – a reasonably regular habit of mine – I decided to follow suit and just stand in the kitchen and then sit on the back deck and immerse myself in the unfolding Brisbane dawn chorus. No smart phone or photos. just being and watching or as my regen farmer son suggests: I immersed myself in the experience of sunrise as a patient, attentive observer.
Here’s my edited quickly written journal entry after “the sun” had arrived and lit up the room:
This morning the trains began as usual around 4.00 or 4.30. I can’t read my luminous watch face well without light or glasses. I couldn’t get back to sleep so at 5 I got out of bed determined to sit and wait for the dawn chorus – no phone, no lights but with a cup of Irish breakfast tea. I stood in the kitchen and watched. The dark was still. There was a breeze in the trees that slowed and stopped and all is still now at 6.30. Shapes of trees and the light in the street across from us. Always there. As orange began to leak into the sky an orange matching hi-vis shirt and internal light both made their silent appearance across the road. Plumber neighbour Shane having breakfast. He roared off in his ute right on 6 as usual.
The sun is now pouring into the kitchen through the trees, unapologetically. The small lights have gone. The small sounds are big sounds as the dawn chorus finds her voice. The first dog just as the orange glint flickers. Road sound cars picked up volume from around 6 when Shane left. [ Brisbane is the earliest rising city in the world I am told].
A fitness runner, probably in his mid 30’s, jogged by in the half light with no possiblity of tripping, falling or being hit by a car or bike. At least less possible than for me after the close call with a flying push bike in the fading day on my walk near the park last night. Half a metre – I just saw him, he just realised I was about to turn off the footpath on to the walk bridge. Why bike riders are so fast on the footpath is a puzzle. I had a light-coloured jacket on – maybe that helped a bit.
The golden orange fountain keeps creeping up behind the trees in the narrow north eastern horizon. The sun is pouring in now. Birds are well and truely singing. The first to fly by was a fruit bat/flying fox about an hour ago. Then as light picked up speed I saw the emigration from the gums and pines. An ibis circled and left for a better view and vantage point. One or two crows cawed and had a committee meeting across the space then decided to wind the meeting back a bit. A murder of crows reminded me of committee meetings that felt murderous! Plane lights in the distance over Brisbane Airport. One in the grey monument coloured sky then a few more around 6. A loud helicopter low over the house heading south east – a hospital emergency transfer or some other.
The stillnes of moments as light arrives with warm promises of the end of weeks of rain.
It is still, still.
Dawn has arrived and we are still here. Slower but still here. The world in Brisbane is rushing awake and racing on to get ahead while tomorrow the sun will rise again as the end of a humid hot autumn leads into at least a few days of winter cool. Climate change only affects the world below the stratosphere while the sun laughs and warms with light and beauty, casting dancing shadows, rocking crows’ nests and starting the chlorophyll photosynthesis cycles in leaves, spinach and grass trees. Gratefully blessed.
Peter Breen
ALSO is an acronym from a weird dream I had and now use as a loose fitting theme for my blog posts.
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