Just thinking aloud - from my point of view

In the book ‘Celebrate the Sun’, Henry Langendorf Pelican, when asked at the close of his life,
“Who will teach our young wisdom and discipline?” says, “Only systems are taught. Wisdom
and self-discipline come from experience of life.” In the classroom I find those words come
to my mind as I ‘feed the lambs’: I teach children concerned with ‘getting’, to try to reach past
attractive and tangible pleasures that pass, to appreciation of intangible values that last.
As I age in a world increasingly troubled, I am concerned for the welfare of children. I find
that life sometimes resembles a comet: a brief flashing light in an indigo sky, leaving behind,
as its tail disappears, a still luminous brightness, then a slowly dimming image on my mind.
From my corner, I can see two ways, and am content in knowing my garden is nature-kind.
In October, on my birthday, a big jacaranda tree bestows lovely lavender drifts, on the grass,
and well hidden I sit there on my chair, with my dog by my side, watching whatever may pass.
Birds and bees gather honey, working over each blossoming plant, bush and tree, consistently.
Pink and gray galahs, and yellow-crested white cockatoos, strip pods from the red tulip tree.
Multi-coloured parrots and other honey-eating birds feast on nectar in the pink-flowering gum.
Clouds of chartreuse finches together with native finches and migratory birds come in autumn
and in spring every year, to forage in flowering callistemons and grevilleas, here or nearby.
Once I saw an albatross with long, narrow black wings and white body, using thermals to fly,
gliding effortlessly, spanning wide circles, high above the coast, in a clear azure afternoon sky.
A drab hen or a fine iridescent-feathered cock pheasant searching for grubs will deign to come
here to rummage through shrubs. Nature gave me two trees, first a slender native plum
with a creamy gray trunk, pale green leaves, ochre catkins, and tiny gold berries in autumn.
The other has a darker gray trunk, dark-green leaves, brown catkins and yellow blossom.
Nature planted these trees, quite conveniently, in the garden beds where their seeds fell.
I know Old Father Time has the last word to say in this life, and in the end time will tell,
but for now, with familiar things around me, and my dear old dog for company, all is well.
A good friend takes me out to the stores and the library, and then we enjoy morning tea.
Other friends come to visit, and another takes me out or to the aquatic centre occasionally.
Daughter Sherry invites me for dinner, and I fully enjoy her fine cooking and company.
Rosemary works, makes time for grandchildren, and comes from the north coast to see me.
I enjoy my plane trip twice a year to my third daughter Leslie, and her sons, in the A.C.T.
When complexities of life come to glower like some rain-heavy cumulus clouds over me,
then to sit with a book and Molly-dog for company, always helps me regain equanimity.
There’s a large crow sometimes alights in my red-flowered eucalypt tree. ‘Caw!’ it will cry,
then appear to await a reply. Visitors think it amusing if they happen to hear me reply,
imitating that bird. It will peer down at me, cock its head comically, then away it will fly.
After many dry weeks it is raining again: several softly drizzling days, with a molten-lead sky.
Between rains, some galahs on utility poles have been jostling to hang out their washing to dry.
Other birds never look as good at that as do pelicans, but Henry Langendorf’s a favourite bird.
I would tell those galahs to go get their washing under cover from the rain, but if they heard
me call out it could well scare them off. Surely all living things must relish this soft-falling rain.
I have seen more galahs around Canberra, than anywhere else I have been, and I wonder again
if there is a surfeit of human ones there, enjoying the politically privileged positions they fill.
I have not had to stand, hose in hand, for a while, so I hope to owe less on my next water bill.
From her mat by the patio door, Molly woofs to come into the house. When I yield to her will,
and she enters the kitchen, her flip-flopping tail indicates satisfaction at being inside, until,
well content with her lot, she falls asleep. Then there comes, as love’s cost, a soft snoring.
I have noticed old dogs tend to snore in their sleep, as some people will do. It is boring,
but my life would not be as good as it is, without her. She pretends to be sleeping, ignoring
any nudging by me to make her wake, and with her eyes shut she flip-flops her tail - funny dog!
I once read, and believe, one can no more buy love than one can buy a wagging tail on a dog.
All in all, being old in this so aptly named ‘Sunshine State’truly has compensatory blessings.
When my thoughts are inclined to be sad, to restore peace of mind I remember these blessings.
I am thankful my life, like a well-worn old vessel, meanders along a quiet stream; although
I do know, as I draw near the landing, that ‘One is one and all alone, and ever more shall be so.’

- Autumn 2006