Eos ~ Feb 16
After the blush of Eos has finished I wait in limpid expanding barely perceptibly, watch the flows of the estuary, patterns, leisurely flows made visible, sailing lines down the surface gloss, quiet colour, sand takes the water’s fingerprints.
Hieroglyphs are shattered by large fish chasing fish beyond the bank, temporary anchor the breakers hit, crashing white cymbals and rumbling a continual tuba note.
This is time to wait positively, patiently attend to the breath, do some Tai-chi walking or . . . Today Eos is different (it always is) the birds are especially busy. Two pairs of magpies are carolling, just behind me a large family of querulous wrens tangle through the scrub, a Willie Wagtail flies in and out amongst them.
Perched for the view, Fig birds, a Black-faced Cuckoo Shrike and tumbling across a squall of aqua and tangerine, the Scaly-breasted Lorikeets.
A Great Cormorant lands inside the blush, no sign of the mob of Little Black Cormorants that are often fishing sunrise here. A Sooty Oystercatcher sticks to the dark rocks.
A child’s Boogie board – we forget things, forget how beautiful Eos is, how fragile this enormous land, sea, air. How tiny distance has become, how scarce night.
The estuarine water is lapping my feet like a pet, sinking softly, shifting sands or tectonic plates at glacial speed.
