Covid Update

We’re into the third year now of being grateful for a Sydney garden which has enjoyed the rains. The dominant resident, the Noisy Miner, has introduced new sounds into its amazing vocal range in the last two years of listening. This morning, the local tribe had a big fight with an intruder and knocked out a gangly unloved pot plant. Noisy Miners are accused of blocking other native species, but I can’t help admiring their family spirit and they can’t prevent all visitors. The cockatoos who learn how to drink from our tightly fenced pool without damaging their wings; the rainbow lorikeets who love the grevilleas; the King Parrots who swoop in so quietly to feed in the camellias. And then there are the flying foxes who take over the turpentines at night. For the neighbours who have no garden, there is a wooded park and playground behind our side of the street. When allowed travel, there are favourite beaches down south. All busy then quiet, busy then quiet, in accordance with the surfs of Covid.


Ils restent

MourningCardMcKinleyMcIntyreWW1 We were standing up the hill near the Premier Cruz and a Frenchman was overlooking the valley. In his school English and our school French we began a conversation. He described how his grandfather tilled the valley below with horse and furrow until he began to look like son cheval. We laughed and then he said, pointing “Il reste”. And that was when my French utterly failed me. How could I tell him that somewhere near Ypres my grandfather and his brother-in-law also rested in French soil, their names written on walls in France and in Canberra. I have never worried for their remains. Safe in French soil just like the vigneron who plied his horse.