Standing at the lake
by the gazebo in Kambarang
second spring 
again.

I’m pondering
the way the lake
is like an eye 
in the ecosystem looking out—
I’m wondering what it’s looking upon.
Is the body the whole catchment?
Is the lake the whole catchment?

Once it looked upon a cosmos
full of life and wording.
Now that same life is in the Earth,
wording forth, like a spring.
This place is not a spring,
but the deeper springing
is here yet.
I’m pondering the stream 
that flows into the world
from the East.
I’m pondering this older,
Indigenous stream.
And I’m pondering 
the Western one.

The Western one is newer,
and yet needs to begin
to move,
to meet the other streams
more truly,
at greater depth.
Where are those who truly
stand in this stream?

As I’m pondering this a turtle rises,
sticking its head above the waterline,
then quickly dives again.
It does this three times,
and is gone.

Today at the gazebo
there’s sunlight,
some shade,
and the flatter side
of a south-westerly wind.

I can see some of the grass below
and keep an eye out for turtles.

A man arrives and says to his walking partner:
“I’m just going to see if there are any turtles.”
He sticks his head over the eastern edge a while—
under where the swallows enter their nest—
and then the west side,
and goes.

I’m watching a single cygnet try to pluck
some of the strands of grass
from its mother, 
then father,
then mother again.

Then there’s the kadar episode.

Eventually I too turn to go,
noticing a woman photographing
a single swan, preening itself
on a small piece of shoreline
in the shade.

A turtle would be nice to see,
(maybe I think ‘and a nice photo’).
So I start scanning for one,
then think of how that changes
one’s whole experience—
when one goes out especially looking 
for something—and I’m reminded of my
time as a dolphin spotter.
Don’t get me wrong, I think
both can be done.
But the inner gesture 
is the one to really watch.

So I cease my extractive scanning
and look back over at the woman
photographing the swan
as I walk up the little bridge to the shore.
And just then, having given up
the search for anything,
I spot a turtle
on the western side. 

I cannot help myself—
I call over to the woman—
“turtle” and point down
as he sticks his head
above the water.
She nods her head,
seeming to not
understand.
I point again.
He lingers,
then begins to go back down.

She seems interested and slowly comes over.
The turtle is moving gradually lower
but I can still see him
as he goes.
I continue pointing.
“Turtle.”
She says nothing,
and I’m not sure if she can see.
I take off my polarised glasses
and can’t see much.
I offer her mine.
She fumbles with a ‘thank you’
and a nod—Japanese?

And then the turtle is gone.

I move to go.
She stays on.
I say “have  a good day.”
She smiles again: “thank you.”
And stays looking at the water
as I head off.

***

That makes four times this last month—
once popping up, once swimming,
once apparently dead near the jetty,
and this morning.

At least two, as many as four.

Today I go further upriver
on the incoming tide,
with the wind.

I walk past the native verge plants
and mansions,
and river.

I walk up the hill under the power line,
and even before I reach the top
I’m thinking of
the dancing of those men
who stopped
in 1879.
What started then?

And suddenly I feel the line that carried the dancing.
and the line that carried something beyond.
I feel the lines meeting in me.
The same or similar.
Differently.

We seem to be able to easily
accept the idea 
that in an organisation
like a company
a board of directors or similar
sets the culture of the whole—
that the ‘idea‘ they hold guides
all the parts—guides the rest.

Yet in nature we seem to want to get to ever-smaller 
increments as means by which we seek
to understand what really drives the whole—
cells, molecules, microbes, atoms, nuclei.

This, in a company, would be akin
to finding the smallest item on a balance sheet—
finding the smallest asset
such as a paperclip
and saying that this is what really determines
the behaviour of the company
as a whole.

It is the idea that guides the company—
that guides any social organisation.
Likewise, it is the idea that guides
the natural organisation.

It is the idea that guides the meta story,
the story, the poem, 
not the words and letters.

That the whole is more than the sum of the parts
is true enough, but it is the ‘whole’ that 
determines the direction of the organism
through coming into being in each of the parts.

And so we come to the whole—
to the idea—
via the parts.

The idea in the words and letters,
in the animal organism,
in the landscape organism,
in the social organism,
in the human organism.

Why stand on our heads 
when we can walk on our feet?

Birthing into the season of birthing,
mornings starting to warm,
many things already birthed,
like wildflowers and baby birds,
some flowers already withering.

There’s smoke in the air—
a couple of weeks ago I spoke
with someone from the relevant authority
who said they’d be burning non-stop for weeks,
‘so if you don’t like smoke
get out of the city!’

It hangs now, under the lower
alto blanket of clouds,
the sea breeze not yet in.

At the lake, kidjibroon to coot 
fights with kwirlam the swamphen—
reminds me that wardong the crow
chased boodalung the pelican
above the river by 
east fremantle last night
as the tide came in.

Nyimarak the shelducks have one duckling
who’s survived—it follows closely
in line behind the mother,
the father is last.

One maali swan has four cygnets
growing each day,
swimming for the ‘plop’ sound 
that falling Moreton Bay figs make.

I walk past where we saw a fresh-born swamphen 
on Saturday. I don’t see it today.

At the gazebo I hear a coot going under
and turn to see yerrigan the turtle
half way between the surface
and the bottom, swimming away.
It’s the most I’ve seen of one so far this season.

The welcome swallows are feeding their young
in the nest at the top of the underside of the gazebo,
their droppings a dead giveaway.
They flit in and out, like thoughts, pausing 
here and there on signs or wooden ledges.
How could one not feel connected to such things?

In the water a coot couple with nest 
continue their mating ritual.
It is over in a brief flapping of wings
and preening.

There is such wisdom to all this animal life,
I see, as a swan flaps low over the water
to the north, pulling up short of another,
before they paddle side by side. 
Wimbin the pink ears stay by their box.
So much wisdom—a guiding genius
smarter than us, leading with hands unseen.