writings from the first time i saw a magpie-lark
A tiny bird flew far away,
Flapping its wings, stirring the wind,
Dancing on the air, light as its feathers,
Heading south, it continued its flight
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I wonder whether the bird thinks the open air was a cradle or just a crossing
From what I know is, a nest is a place of rest, shelter, and belonging
It is where a bird begins, where it returns
But the sky is not a place of stillness —
it is ever-moving, shifting with winds and storms,
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never offering the security of a branch or the embrace of woven twigs
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Perhaps, to the bird, the sky is not a nest but a home
A home without walls, without limits
A place where it is free, where it dances with the air,
where it finds its purpose not in staying but in soaring
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Or maybe, for the bird, the nest is just a pause — while the sky is where it truly belongs
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Warrnambool,
Dec 2025
