Yesterday I walked the path on the southern edge of the lake
under the Moreton Bay figs, past 
where yet the Pacific black ducks, 
marangana the wood ducks,
maali the swan and cygnets, 
kidjibroon the coot,
and maybe a few others,
like ngoonan the grey teal,
have been overdosing on falling figs
that land in the water with a plop.
From there I stayed under the figs, 
eventually cutting my own path 
through where they sprayed ‘slasher’—
an organic weed burner a few weeks back—
closer to the fenceline by the water’s edge, 
towards the jetty.

At one point, not far from the jetty, under the final fig
to the west, I felt something following me,
and turned to find kwirlam the purple swamp hen
on my tail. I wouldn’t say chasing, necessarily, for when
I stopped and turned around he also stopped
and looked at me. Then when
I walked, he too began to walk, drawing slightly closer.
This happened a couple of times.
At first I wasn’t sure if he was looking for things
in my upturned footprints,
or if he thought I might have food,
or if I’d come a bit too close to some of his young.
In any case, I’d never seen him do this to anyone
before.

Arriving at the jetty, he seemed to peel off and go about
his business.

Today, I found myself headed in a similar direction,
without thinking.
And there, standing under the trunk of the fig, 
was kwirlam. 
I immediately apologised, knowing that this lake is his—
one of the few birds that remains all dry summer—
and returned to the path.

Re-arriving at the jetty I looked back along the fenceline
as he walked along it also. And there, between him and another hen
were a couple of tiny chicks, all black.