I come across a dead koolbardie magpie in the the grasslands and big eucalypts not far from where a large branch fell down by the owl nest. His back is to the sky, all black and white, and his beak is tucked in under him—under his chest. He is in a small cupping of dark sand—not grass—and the earth seems to hold him there, like that…or his body at least; this bird of the sun, this being of the stars and skies.

Before seeing a dead koolbardie magpie I’m at the eastern viewing area again. And in the reeds below, unseen for much of the last few weeks, I see the female kadar musk duck with two young, now not so small, paddling away from the reeds and rushes and from my interruption. A little later there is koordji-koordji the reed warbler at the top of the reed, near the seedhead, the whole thing bending slightly with its little weight, and the lake so still that the entire scene is mirrored clearly in the water below. To my right is the paperbark that is always there, but today I take special note of the many dozens of layers of its skin, folded in, folded over, layering and layering like limestone. There is the sound of coots in the water, and the sound of quenda the bandicoot in the dry rustling and leaves.  

Walking the grassland and large tree area of the lake today, approaching the last of three known tawny frogmouth nests, and I see that a large branch has fallen down and now sits near the base of the nest. On getting closer it’s clear that the branch would have fallen right on the nest in the tree next door if a couple of smaller branches hadn’t deflected it and caused it to fall slightly further east. On standing at the canopy of the now fallen branch, I look directly up to see if the owl is still there in the nest—and sure enough she is.

What a moment that must have been to hear the tearing of the bark of the tree—maybe in the night—and then to hear it come crashing down onto your own tree, only to miss by a couple of wingspans. I look at her now. She remains perfectly still.

Bardoongooba the shoveler is back at the lake today for the first time since the earlier rains. Marangana the wood duck shoos with his mouth open each time I have seen him do it. The shelduck poises itself against a shoo from the coot, which does not come. Instead, coot shoos yet the Pacific black duck. Dooram dooram the singing honeyeater shoos djiddy djiddy the wagtail. The amount of grass is worth noting again—coming up thick and wide. No hardheads seen today after so many yesterday. A turtle puts its head above the water on a western section and looks my way for a long time, going back under when I eventually move. There are close to a dozen karak red-tailed cockatoos on the norther side of the lake eating the small nuts on a large, grey-smooth-bark eucalypt. And in the middle tree with owls a second adult can be seen.

In the centre of the lake today I count a group of eight darker brown and blackish ducks, sitting slightly lower on hte water, with what looks to be a kind of white tip on one end, and a white tip on the other. Until recently I might have assumed them to be bluebills out of clear sight at a distance. But I am now more able to join what I see to the concept ‘hardhead!’ and all seems well again. I have never seen this many in the centre of this lake (and still haven’t in the weeks following the writing of this.)

My raw notes say: Yet Pacific black duck with chicks all sizes (four small, three larger, a couple in between); kidjibroon the coot with chicks. Coot shoos yet; marangana the wood duck (quacking) shoos yet; coot shoos another yet; yet shoos another yet, while an adolescent yet retaliates, before being shoo-ed again.

There is much grass coming up through the watery surface of the lake; it is rising as the water is falling. While at the same time adolescent Maali the swan is patchily dropping his fluffy grey coat for full black feathers.

Some weeks after seeing an unidentified dead bird and feathers near the lake’s southern jetty, I find a handful of feathers of yet the Pacific black duck by the lake’s eastern lookout edge. (And then, some weeks later, I will find the small feathers of a chick also near the jetty, presumably another yet.)