I return to the bird hide that is my home and find a silver eye zosterops lateralis gouldi beak varnished with berries a comma of green on the jarrah deck beside windows that mimic the sky the trees the shadow of the sun I scoop it up with an envelope addressed to you a reminder from the doctor still warm from the letter box and balance its body on this sheath of white space as if even now after all this time I am still uncertain of death when my children were young we would make a fire and sing a song to honour the small hearts of birds and animals that had not made it through the day and sit together in the dark with the glow of flames on our skin but this is a season without fires so I forage and create a shroud of mulberry leaves place a garland of camomile upon the keel of its chest lead a solitary cortege down the path to the edge of the block away from the nest it made with strands of my grey hair
From: Vol.10 N.01 – Private: The Transformative Now
Flight call
by
Emma Crook