It’s early morning and the sun’s rays are casting long shadows. The air is crisp. A slight mist sits over the lake. I am back sitting in my spot under the Moreton Bay fig. I haven’t been here for months. Not for seasons. Summer has come and gone, autumn and now winter too. It’s spring, almost a year since I first came here to sit and watch. I thought I’d keep it up as a regular practice; it was such a rich experience. But I dropped it. The busyness of doing got in the way of sitting here being. As the days drifted by into weeks, then months and seasons, I would think sometimes of the rufous night herons I had so loved to watch from my sit spot. I wondered if they were still around.
Beautiful spot. I could feel it when reading. I also am not good at frog calls, I know two reliably. LOL. Julien and I heard one down at the block the other day and it sounded like the sharp tongue clicks some African languages use. I'd never heard it before and the "frog Ap" Julien had on his phone couldn't pick it up well due to the noisy waterfall nearby. And we couldn't see the frog.
I love this post.
Beautiful spot. I could feel it when reading. I also am not good at frog calls, I know two reliably. LOL. Julien and I heard one down at the block the other day and it sounded like the sharp tongue clicks some African languages use. I'd never heard it before and the "frog Ap" Julien had on his phone couldn't pick it up well due to the noisy waterfall nearby. And we couldn't see the frog.