A real-life bowerbird 🪶
Dear friends,
Right after I last wrote — many, many moons ago — an actual real-life bowerbird began visiting our garden. While I spent weeks and months wondering when (and perhaps, whether) my words would return, I also waited and watched for the bowerbird’s return to our yard.
More than once I was rewarded — spotting him clinging to our fence, or bathing under the crepe myrtle, in the terracotta bird bath Mum gave us last Christmas.
We’ve searched for his nest; kept our eyes peeled for a trail of blue items, and I’ve wondered how many blue Nerf bullets may have been scooped up out of our long summer grass for the nest. So far, our search hasn’t been fruitful — and I’m okay with that. Simultaneously, I’ve had to wonder about my own thoughts and dreams: some being collected and sorted for sharing; others I will keep for myself, my people, my own sacred walk.
For the first time, I’ve learned to spot the female bowerbird too. She has an elegant long tail and chestnut-coloured feathers, and I can’t quite get over how graceful she is. I’ve learned to expect her to be harder to spot, but I keep my eyes peeled nonetheless. Finding her feels just like finding treasure.
The past year contained within it an unfurling that needed to happen in my quiet, still, private, feet-on-the-ground life. Despite the swirling climate of the world at large, finding my ordinary self in the unfurling felt just like finding treasure.
I’ve gotten used to assuming I don’t know what lies ahead (haven’t we all?). I’m giving more weight to the way I move, the position of my feet, the posture of my body, the sound of my voice. I’ll be exploring that here in this space over the next few months, taking notes and keeping an eye out for my resident bowerbirds.
Here’s to noticing—
Emma
Collected items…
📎 I’ve been reading (devouring) Practising Simplicity this weekend, and unsuccessfully resisting the urge to plan our own lap of Australia
📎 This week I’ve been revisiting the magic of morning pages, a la The Artist’s Way