Big rain yesterday, and the water levels are up—
it is starting to look like what you think of
as a lake. (1.03 metres,
though the gauge starts at 1 metre.)
But it is always a lake.
An old, flat land makes efficient use
of all water dropped. 

There’s a crowd of janjarak black-
winged stilts facing north
into the wind. There are 
Pacific black ducks, grey teals,
marangana wood ducks,
larger shelducks, swans
flapping and making noise.
There are swamphens
and the sound of grey butcher birds
and crows in the trees.

I walk the western edge
of the southern part of the lake.
And half way to the gazebo
I’m again struck by the love
of this place, of al places,
of all people. It’s enough 
to make you cry,
to make you stop in your tracks.
But I don’t—not this time.

It changes you though, 
on the inside—
first pouring in,
then pouring out.
Love for this place,
love of this place.
All places.
All people.
All things.

At the gazebo there are three
herons waiting.
Koorodoor the eastern reef egret/heron 
almost blindingly white
in the morning sun;
wayan the white-faced heron;
and djilimilyarn the white-necked heron.
They are all very close to the gazebo
so I hang back. Kooridor wanders
slowly east; wayan the same; djilimilyarn
hangs by on the northern side
of the timber structure.

I come a bit closer.
Wayan now has his beak to the sky,
pointing up to the gazebo—I’ve never seen him
hunt like this. He then strikes mid air,
and I see he’s trying to bring in a dragonfly.
He tries a few more times over the next
20 minutes, unsuccessfully; unsuccess-fly.
The larger white-necked heron
comes out from behind the gazebo,
long enough for me to see he has a ladder 
of little dots on the central frontal part
of his neck.

Further north, a small raptor—
maybe a hobby, maybe a kestrel—
has landed on a dead tree
next to some ibis; while to the east
a pack of crows or magpies
chase down another bird in a
cloud of black wings.

To the north a cumulo nimbus
is moving in, covering the sun.

From beyond the lake comes 
the sound of combustion engines,
sirens, chainsaws, as well as rifle fire
from the nearby army base.

There are three messages 
I’m given in all this time. 
One for work here;
another for the Asia Pacific;
another globally.

And then it’s time to go.