Jewels on the River

Just as I step onto the trail, right there under my feet, is a tiny exquisite feather. Not quite a centimetre long, the feather is lustrous. At the quill end it's a fluffy pale grey which turns into a deep tangerine, pales into a rich orangey-yellow, bleeds into a light olive greeny-yellow and then, in miniature tufts, is transformed into a bright emerald green. A very small and precious gift from the Rainbow Lorikeet - the colours of the feather imitating its name.

Early in the day in the warmer months, the river valley is often slightly foggy. But as the sun breaks through and the light dances on the water, the river's colours begin to sparkle. Gradually the river takes on the quality and colour of its surroundings. It shifts from a dark khaki to a browny-olive then spreads to a honey earthy brown, even to delicious shades of darkish green. But when the fog lifts and the sky changes from misty greys to an intense bright blue, the river's colour changes again and reflects the beauty of blueness.

Above me, in the quiet of the river's stillness, the white Cockatoos are scruffling raucously. They seem perturbed, agitated somehow and are shrieking and screeching, intent on one particular tree. It is a narrow eucalypt about five to six metres tall, full of hollows. The Cockatoos peer closely into the openings, then they fly up and back and look deeply into the hollows again, all the while vocalising. What is in the tree hollows? And why are the birds screeching so loudly?

From White Cockatoos to glossy blueblack Ravens, the colours of the birds seem to blur among the bushes and grasses. Black and white Butcher Birds, Magpies, Mudlarks and Wagtails, silvery grey Cuckoo Skreiks, intensely coloured Pardalotes and Kingfishers, blue Wrens, red Wrens, pink and grey Galahs, multi-coloured Rosellas in intoxicating hues. And many LBBs, the little brown birds which sing so sweetly.

Then right there, sitting on a blade of bright green grass, is a beetle the colour of dazzling lapis lazuli. It's a day to relish these jewels of the river.

Coucals and Cockatoos

Wooom, Ooom, Wooom Ooom, Wooom Ooom. The sound echoes back and forth across the trail. Two native pheasants or Coucals are signalling. They seem shy but their song is insistent. When I read the bird book I learn such interesting things about them, especially about how they fly (clumsily) and how construct their nests (painstakingly).

'The male and female climb high in trees, break off small leafy branchlets and let them drop to the ground. Then they drag the branchlets across the ground through the undergrowth to the nest site.' (Frith, 1976:301). They reach the top of the trees by going backwards and forwards from one tree to another, slowly gaining height. Then they glide back down. Back on earth they construct their nest from the pile of leaves and twigs they've collected, and when that's done, they grab some more leaves and branches from the surrounding vegetation, pulling them down to form a roof over their new home. The birdbook also tells me that: 'Newly hatched pheasant coucals are a startling sight.' I will keep a look out.

Not far from the booming voice of the Coucals I spy Willie Wagtail on a low eucalypt branch overlooking the river. He is chattering urgently, warningly. Higher up in the tree canopy there is a family of small raptors. It's too far away to make out which kind - falcon, hawk, kite? But the fledglings are learning to fly or so it seems. Wings flapping. Launch off the branch, a little circle, a short glide, then back to the safety of the branch.

A few days ago the parent hawk was gliding above the river, watching. Flying right beside it, shrieking loudly, was one lone cockatoo. As they passed me, a treeload of white cockatoos, also screeching, rose up out of the canopy of a nearby eucalypt. The hawk paid them no attention and flew slowly on.

I often share these bird stories with the other river walkers I meet along the trail. We stop to chat about the many birds we've seen. Today it's Wrens, Pardalotes, Willie wagtails. Cockatoos. Kingfisher. Brush Turkeys. Butcher birds. Magpies. Ravens. Currawongs. Kookaburras. And now the Coucals.

As we talk about how lovely it is here, the riverwalker remarks about the plethora of birds she sees. I agree, but tell her the story I heard last week from another of the regular visitors to this place, a local historian. She told me that she knows a couple of locals, elderly women probably in their mid to late nineties. They remember when there were just a few houses here. And in commenting on the river, they remarked how prolific the bird life used to be.

To me and the other river walkers I meet, this is a real sanctuary, with plenty of birdlife. Outside this special place we've become so used to the impact of development and tree cutting that we don't notice when the birds, bats and possums disappear.

But by visiting this precious pocket of bushland, we notice what seems to us to be an abundance of birdlife. We notice the difference. Knowing that years ago there were far more birds is important. Gathering stories from the elders, hearing about their memories of the river, brings a new perspective to the local ecology and a nostalgia for an often forgotten past.

Reference
Frith HJ, 1976, Reader's Digest Complete Book of Australian Birds, Surry Hills, NSW, Reader's Digest Services Pty Ltd.

RiverWalking

Sometimes at early morn and late evening a golden light spreads across the river valley. A shining luxurious glow hangs among the trees, gilding the branches, the leaves, and the watery avenue that is the Brisbane River. The mangrove leaves turn a bright lime green, the dew sparkles up the spiders' webs and the tree trunks gleam. It has hardly rained for months here, yet the sight of the glowing light reminds me of the light shed by the rainbow. I miss that. In the golden (de)light there is also a hint of that multi-coloured ribbon that spans the sky and a memory of the 'pot of gold' I once saw when the rainbow dropped straight into the forest of Mt Cootha. What a magical place. Sometimes the light comes just before it rains, but now, although there is the touch of light, no grey clouds form and no rain appears.

Parched. The land. The water seems to play tricks and gives the impression that there is no drought. The river rises and falls with the tides, and today, you can see that the tide is way way out. The banks of Sandy Creek are wide viscous chocolate filled with the breathing holes from crustaceans or other water creatures, and the upsidedown rootlets of the mangroves. Ducks waddle in the creek's brown water, stirring up the mud. The yellow light catches the swirling earth as it spirals beneath the ducks' feet, while the people walking their dogs and jogging are captured - and held - within the glow.

This is what you see when you go riverwalking in Brisbane. Riverwalking is also the title of the nature writer and philosopher, Kathleen Dean Moore. She is a marvellous writer. Her books Riverwalking and Pine Island Paradox are wonderfully evocative texts. They reveal her love of flowing places and her sensitivity and care for the land and her family. She is one of a handful of my favourite nature writers - Terry Tempest Williams, Richard Nelson, Barry Lopez, Scott Russell Sanders, Linda Hogan, as well as the writings reflected in the gorgeous journal Orion. I relish their words and their ability to harness the feelings exhibited by the natural world as if you, the reader, are also walking in their footsteps.

The other writer who has the same effect on me is the glorious poet Mary Oliver. The tapestry of her words stir the heart and compel the reader, me, to tell others of the generosity of her thread. Here is The Swan by Mary Oliver.

The Swan

Did you too see it, drifting, all night, on the black river?
Did you see it in the morning, rising into the silvery air -
An armful of white blossoms,
A perfect commotion of silk and linen as it leaned
into the bondage of its wings; a snowbank, a bank of lilies,
Biting the air with its black beak?
Did you hear it, fluting and whistling
A shrill dark music - like the rain pelting the trees - like a waterfall
Knifing down the black ledges?
And did you see it, finally, just under the clouds -
A white cross Streaming across the sky, its feet
Like black leaves, its wings Like the stretching light of the river?
And did you feel it, in your heart, how it pertained to everything?
And have you too finally figured out what beauty is for?
And have you changed your life?

If you would like to make a comment or add your own wonderful poem, click on Comments below.

Awash, Aglow, Aflame

The river speaks ... ssshhhrrrrr .... ssshhrrrrr ... ssshhhrrrrr ...
One day's rain a couple of weeks ago, plus the slightly warmer weather and the sometimes biting wind, and the trees are awash with new growth and flitting birds. Silver-eyes dance from branch to branch while the Willie Wagtail chatters on the ground below. Mudlarks graze, a Cormorant waits on the dead tree just above the mangroves, the Grey teal family parades along the overhanging branches high in the tree's canopy, Parrots murmur through the eucalypt flowers, and the Galahs suddenly take off screeching with what sounds like delight, their pink wings aglow. The new growth on the trees is a mix of pinks, reds, coppers, aflame in the shining light. A raven and a currawong chase each other crazily through the trees - it's hard to tell who is chasing who or why. It's just another day on the river. But it's more.

In the book Sustainability and Spirituality - a journey through science, spirtuality and ecospiritual and ecotheological communities in the US - author John E Carroll (2004) cites the holistic perspective of mindfulness, kindness, joy and purposeful living, from Helen and Scott Nearing (1997), who list a number of qualities or attributes which underline living with true harmony among earth and community (human and otherwise). They write (and here I am summarising): 'Do the best you can; Be at peace; Find a job you enjoy; Live simply; Contact nature every day; Feel the earth under your feet; Take time to wonder at life and the world; Keep in close contact with social justice issues; Do research; Write, lecture and teach' (Carroll, 2004:17-18).

This is the world I seek, where social justice and eco-justice blurs, spirals and soars. It's the way the river speaks - as it flows through this evocative poem by Jeanne Lohman.

Rivertalk

is whatever comes along,
practice always here while we

keep on shore, all the time
saying we want to get wet.

But the river has ways
of sound and light, ripples

and waves that tell us:
don't be so serious, rumble in

where nothing is finished or broken
and nothing asks to be fixed.

Jeanne Lohman, Jan 27, 2006

If you want to make a comment, click on 'Comments' below.

References:
Carroll JE, 2004, Sustainability and Spirituality, Albany NY: State University of New York Press.