On the old traffic bridge stretching across the river from North Fremantle—where even now they build a new bridge next door—above a lightpost on the upriver side, just as the road starts to hang out over the water—in that upper world, looking down on it all, including the river, sits, as so often he does, dorn dorn the osprey. The next day I’m walking across the high trainline pedestrian bridge towards the ocean, and on the westernmost lightpost, high above coastal dunes and plants and road, sits a small raptor of some kind—I’m guessing a kestrel, the sun heading towards setting beyond. And on the way home, on a power line the other side of the highway, sits wardo wardong the grey butcherbird, all black and white and high, singing as if from the periphery of life.