Blue Poles suite Jan 5th
5:15
The sky looks charred, the cicadas have started early so I boost the volume. Their series of crescendos scream high-pitched Salvation Army tambourines outside my window.
5:21
I pick a Pied Butcherbird’s thread and follow it back ramulose like. A couple of Kookaburras make inroads as I wait for Carla Bley, finger on record.
Jagun is happening outside my window: the bats have left, gliders are returning to their beds, the birds are getting busy.
5:45
Crickets and Katydid’s call up light on a grey cloudy morning. Jagun’s foliage is emerging green even the grey Blackbutt leaves. My pores feel porous, the world shares itself.
6:03
Black Cockatoos become available shrieking like bass seagulls as they lazily flap a meander overhead. Augers could use these for the weather, not repercussions in Iraq or Afghanistan. And a fig bird’s piercing muscular repetitions, dropping from somewhere on the tip of the canopy.
6:50
As if cultivated, the forest pours the sweet scent of Pink Bloodwood blossom. A squad of Rainbow Lorikeets splinter off an arm of Jagun and scream across a band of light, mirror of the ocean demarcating another starting point.
‘Rather than being a definite sort of thing – for example, physical, spiritual, cultural, social – a given place takes on the qualities of its occupants, reflecting those qualities in its own constitution and description and expressing them in its occurrence as an event: places not are, they happen.’ Edward Casey.
David Rothenberg concludes Why Birds Sing: “For the same reason we sing – because we can. Because we love to inhabit the pure realm of sound . . . No explanation will ever ease the eternal need for song.”
