While looking for birin birin the rainbow bee-eater in kartagarrup Kings Park—at first between burned-out and non-burned section of bushland, then moving into all unburned area—seeing there by the way birin birin in numbers, their green chests and mostly-orange heads with dark eye line, flittering in medium size and triangular wings powerfully through the canopy, pausing on branches, longer honey-eater type beaks, making a sound like cicadas—I come across three very large karak red-tailed black cockatoos on a female kwell sheoak branch. One karak with almost fluorescent yellow-green dots walking slowly, languidly up a branch, effortlessly snapping with its beak single thin sticks that lie in its slow upward march towards the nuts at the end of the branch, arriving there to snap again with beak and grab with claw the nutted and straight-leaved edge of the tree, holding firm with foot while picking at the seeds, its large beak like one giant incisor from top and another from bottom, coming together in a point to crush the little seeds within the nut. I try to feel what it would be like if all my teeth were condensed into one giant incisor, going beyond the two front teeth of the mouse into a full front-of-headedness, full top-of-headedness. The bird belongs to this part of us. Belongs to the part of the world coming down from the peripheries to land for a moment upon the earth. This nerve-sensed-ness. And the tree—in this case the kwell—rooted to the earth, with its slow and gradual growing up and outness, in stem and branches, contractions into flowerings, which for the kwell happens for nearby male plants, followed in the female by fruitful nut expansion with seed within. The nut of the kwell a final expanding outwards that seeks also for a kind of longing for something coming from the wide skies above—not just a contraction into seed, but a longing for another kind of meeting. And this day the meeting comes from karak the red-tailed black cockatoo—from the wider periphery reaching down, and finding the seed within the outward edges of the sheoak—eating, scattering—something touched by the heights, by light, by thinking from above, then deposited back to earth now in fallen bits from mouths, or later in what is excreted. Marri trees; other trees the same. Heaven and the earth in exchange. Our thinking watches on, observing a scene metabolised in us through that which stands firmly on the earth.