Alto stratus clearing, with no wind when I arrive. The lake is calm and quiet today—even the usual lawn mowing and leaf blowing is relatively silent. The first thing I see at the eastern viewing area (and he sees me) is the while ibis—he’s up on the reed bed today; he pauses his work and stares, waiting for my next more; I’ve decided to stay. A young wardong crow is up in the tree requesting to be fed, a djidi djidi wagtail scolds nearby. In the reeds to the north a warbler flits around; in the water besides him nolyang the moorhen is paddling by. Out towards the centre of the lake are a few coots—one with two young nearby suddenly turns on the older of the young, flapping on top of it, so that it is forced to go under—this happens a couple of times before the younger one moves away. Across from the lake’s other side noolarga the black faced cuckooshrike flies over the water, figtree height, like a dart; then there comes another. Slightly further south on the water are some Pacific black ducks and bardoongooba the shoveler; they are mostly busy tipping themselves over ninety degrees to reach the grass and reeds below. At one point a female bardoongooba shoos yet the Pacific black duck away. There are also some wimbin pink eared ducks amongst them. Across the lake to the north west further out is a single hardhead with white tail tip, and white beak tip, diving down. Beyond this area, a single coot defends its area against a collection of others. Closer in there is a grebe, also diving, looking very similar to young coots, which tend not to really dive, or at least not for so long. A couple of janjarak black winged stilts fly back and forth, low over the water. I walk south towards the jetty and find a trio of newborn djiddy djiddy wagtails standing on a branch with mouths open while an adult is off gathering food, returning as I pass. On the shoreline sit yet, wimbin and, further along, ngoonan the grey teal. I round the south east corner and there are a couple of female marangana woodducks on the grass on the other side of the path, while there are many other ducks lined up on the dead tree trunk hanging out over the water. I make it around to the jetty—the level marker reads 1.32 metres—dropping daily now. On the green ground cover to the west of the jetty is a swan and two adolescent cygnets—their feathers are a browny creamy kind of stripy assortment, while the underside of their still-not-fully-developed wingtips are white, and their beaks are a kind of dirty pink with tips tending towards white; the adult lies next to them, its visible feathers fully black. On the other side of the swans is an adult yet with three chicks. On this side of the swans is an adult swamphen and adolescent just now growing a more purple chest; it’s head and beak are still black however; I watch as the adult leads the young one up onto the bushes in search of more food. On the eastern side of the jetty are more yet and other ducks, while behind me is another young crow with mother or father, waiting to be fed.

Somewhere in there the south westerly has started up again, with ripples beginning on the lake’s surface.