Morning wakeups of kookaburras
flying into closed windows,
over and over again—maybe five times.

Later in the morning
chunyart the 28 is perched
on the edge of the bird bath
before jumping
without hesitation right into it.
He flaps and bathes himself
like an old pro—
like a duck—
shooing off another 28
when he approaches.
And when he’s had enough,
he flaps up onto a nearby tree branch
to dry out.

I suspect a nearby bandiny New Holland 
honeyeater has also had a drink.
He perches on nearby red-flowering grevillea
and feeds another bandiny when it approaches.

The other chunyart stands on the edge
of the bath, drops his head to drink
but doesn’t jump in.

There is a family of red-winged fairy wrens—
only the male of which is coloured 
with red wings and blue head—
hopping on the grass and bushes nearby.

A scarlet robin sits, all red-breasted, 
in the branch of a bottlebrush.

And there are other small birds of dark-grey wings, 
black eyebrows and whiter breast;
plus some even smaller birds like 
tiny silvereyes.

They come on like a flurry
all together
in the morning—
all at the same time,
while now it is quiet.

Perhaps it’s also the usual time 
that the cleaner might come
and gather up any rubbish,
potentially dropping food.
Perhaps not.

In any case,
all it takes 
is a little sitting outside,
a preparedness
to look up from the
screens of life,
and see what arrives—
to see what flies in,
what lands,
and becomes,
inside.