For some reason my attention is drawn again to the fenceline in the lake today. Its old posts run in a line north to south in the southern part of the lake, sticking now—levels at 1.26 metres—out of the water. Knowing some of all that this lake is, or all of some of what it is, it definitely reveals a kind of thinking of that time which decided it was a good idea to put a fenceline in…and right through its centre, like a kind of dividing of life. Someone or someones thought it was a good idea at the time, and it still lives there, in grey-post, faded-timber retrospect.

And now, in writing this, I’m also reminded of the fence they put up between the viewing area and the shoreline on the south eastern side. I remember that fence appeared one day with a sign that said “Temporary Fence.” Eventually the sign disappeared.

The birds at the lake have adopted the regular pattern of recent days and weeks. In the centre it is mostly coots, a few hardheads, and maybe a couple of shelducks. Towards the north, on dead tree stumps, are a couple of kakak cormorants. Manatj also find dead log spots to walk their white feathers down to the water. The rest of the birds, though—mostly ducks—stick to the more shallow edges, occasionally flying forward in a crowd towards the lake’s centre if anyone pauses too long on the walkway, or doubles back; in there are teals, shovelers, pink ears, black ducks, but also stilts. I walk the edge today around to the jetty, and resting there on the bank are some black ducks as well as wood ducks; one black duck has a couple of young with it still. A black winged stilt stands on the nesting spot left by a coot at the end of the jetty. He flies off when I arrive, doubles back around, makes a lot of complaining noise while bobbing his head up and down, lands on the shore to the west, then retakes his position once I leave. Water levels are 1.27 metres and falling.

I walk towards the gazebo—there are maleleucas flowering white and full along the branches. A swan sticks its head up above the seeds of the grasses. An ibis is busy in the grass further north. A night heron lands on the bush with other ibis. At the gazebo I notice an abandoned swan’s nest with another stilt perched upon it. A coot has some new chicks. Two swans dance slowly together while another eats grass nearby, not far from four small cygnets eating too. 

More stilts walk high in the north west shallows. There are many high pitched songs amongst the tuarts to the north of the lake. And near the north east corner a cloud of white-tailed black cockatoos fly over.

Amongst it all, there are boys playing cricket, and a girls school on some kind of scavenger hunt with nature-based observation stations scattered around the lake; they seem to notice some lorikeets, but not the cockatoos. The eucalypts in the park are shedding their kindling bark for the fire of summer. Further into the parkland as I approach the car, a woman sits on a bench—she has about seven dogs running around nearby, one of whom wishes to say hello. And then I pass by a group of corellas in the grass eating the seeds of a yellow flower like cat’s claw—a kind of smaller dandelion; they go past the full flowers themselves, leaving them, but instead specifically seeking out the the older ones that have gone to seed.

Fin and I are standing at the south end of the lake, between fig trees. The wind is northerly. It’s a clear sky above with some stratus to the north that will increase rapidly—grey above by mid morning and rain by the middle of the day. But we’re here now, with the usual ducks and other customers. Then all of a sudden, scattering from the shore of the south east corner and from the norther part of the lake—whole clouds of birds lift off. I look for the cause of all this, and see the long, slow, orange wingspan and fingered feathers on wing edges of what I assume is a swamp harrier. He glides and flaps slowly, yet somewhat awkwardly, like a big jumbo coming into land. He’s not high though, but level with the other birds, flying just past the middle of the like, slightly on the western side. He seems close to a cloud of ducks—mostly teals I suppose—but he doesn’t give chase to any. There are also no seagulls to give chase to him today, and no koolbardie magpies close by. It is wardong the crow that harasses the harrier this time. He seeks refuge in a small clump of reeds usually frequented by some warblers on the eastern edge. But when he takes off again the crows are at him. He flies further north, and awkwardly alights where the ibis roost—a couple move off and give him space. The crows back away, until he takes off again, and then they’re at him once more. And then we lose him and the whole company as they head further north. 

Some days the lake offers a clear view into things. There are levels to this—-depths. But you still have to look through the things of it. Like today: juvenile shelducks, more than one hardhead, a couple of small cormorants, corellas in a tree, wood ducks in the wood, swans and stilts at the jetty, crows lifting leaves with beaks under fig trees at the south end, the sound of djiddy djiddy with its young, wimbin and teals and bardoongooba ducks. Coots shoo swamphens. An adolescent shelduck shoos other ducks. Hardheads dive. And you remember the reed warbler, from before.

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.