Big sky and kookaburras

There’s ways to wake up in the morning.

When my mothers dog was dying I saw it in a dream. Poppy was barking at me “help me, help me” . I think in a dream when you look into a dogs eyes, there seems to be a line of stronger communication. As I eased to, Poppy was looking at me barking dog speak to the same tune. 2 days later she was put down from a tumour in her stomach that started bleeding.

The ring tunes on the phone alarms play sweet melodies. The association I’ve created with mine, when I ask it to nudge me awake at 5.30am, is that I have a private piano player in my walk in wardrobe. He lets himself in at about 5.15am and pours himself a coffee from the imaginary coffee bar we negotiated when I imaginary hired him. And so I feel very elegant as I wake to piano tunes. This fantasy feeling, however, is momentary, as the repetitiveness of the tune, like a broken record, springs me to reality. My piano player takes the back exit, as we negotiated.

Living in the country opens up the range of sounds you can hear. When I lived in the city, the drone of traffic would dull my senses. I didn’t mind it, the drone calmed my anxiety. But here, it’s the whole orchestra. I think I know all my birds; I’ve become familiar with their calls. Especially the kookaburra, the boss of birds. I wake up to a snide laugh. That laugh keeps us humble in Australia and possibly the root cause of our self deprecating humour. It’s open and devilish and bold and causes me to remember I have an opportunity to try again.

I even step outside sometimes and look for them up in the sky, when the shift in opportunity turns to light, and keeps the bigger picture within reach.

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