Ward River

There’s not much happening on the Ward River, west of Charleville this morning. Well, not by city standards anyway. There’s just a whispy, nippy south-easterly rustling the gums. Now and then a melancholy chorus of crows is heard overhead or the harsh ‘pwee pwee’ of a black kite circling lazily on the thermals. And of course there’s the pleasant chatter of willy wagtails as they forage for a breakfast of bugs amongst the tall reeds. A stately white pelican glides by; no rush though. There’s a whole wide river and an entire long day to catch a yellow belly or two. The night heron has cautiously come out of hiding and we are having a stand off match staring at one another. A few buzzards have appeared. Shy and timid, they are unsure of their new neighbor. Obviously caravans are not a common fabric of the landscape here.

No, there’s not much happening by city standards. But there’s a rhythm from dawn to dusk and dusk to dawn where all of nature is in a constant gentle motion doing what they were designed to do. And perhaps as I sit and enjoy the varied selection of bird life on show, I too am doing what I was created to do. Be still and be grateful.

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