A quaver of quivering cockatoos

Last week we lobbed on the mother on a gorgeous Sunday, girl #1 running wild in the sunbaked suburbia, girl #2 obliging with a gentle nap in the car as I drove the streets of my old town, Bexley North, festooned as they were with an accumulation of consumerist rubbish. I love a clean-up campaign, but, with Ebay and gumtree and the like, they ain’t what they used to be.

Anyway, over coffee, my mum told me a flock of yellow-tailed black cockies had gone overhead. Raucous, like a bunch of Yabbas heckling Jardine.

I was sad to miss them; I like a good bird almost as much as I like a good plane.

We headed home as the sun disappeared, and around the corner, I heard a voice – “Mr Jardine, you leave our flies alone”. Up on the Foxtel cable, 17 black cockies. Diving in and out of a callistemon (bottlebrush). Talking shit and dropping shit.

I pulled over and snapped away with the phone. When I downloaded the images today, it struck me how musical this little quartet looked. Someone with actual musical knowledge might like to explain what notes they are playing on the stave…




About peterwarrington65

geography, street art, cricket, Richmond Tigers, PJ Harvey, View all posts by peterwarrington65

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