Question of Balance

(by Andy)

 

I’ve been a bit moody, but not blue.

A bit here.  A bit there.

The see-saw tips back and forth between ready to be home and not ready to leave.

The feet are still firmly planted in just being here though, and they push off with conviction into the up and down.

A few days ago I had the first of what now seems to be a series of last foreshore walks to the mouth of the Hopkins, my favorite ending and beginning place.

A pair of pelicans feeding at the estuary was there for me.

I finally got to see a river eel, as one of the pelicans caught one.

These pelicans were not diving into the water to fish. Rather, they were meandering about like two paddle boats, slowly making their way here and there in the shallow water. They would periodically bob for apples, or in this case fish.

I got to see the eel because it did not fit within the pelican pouch. About a foot of it hung out the side. The pelican would toss its head back to try to get the eel all the way inside.

The eel would try to wiggle and squiggle its way back out.

A fine question of balance it was.

My eel cycle came to completion with its disappearance into the pelican.

On the way home I spotted a wallaby watching me, a playful turnabout marking a return about ready to play out.

A mini exaltation of brown wrens flew up from the path and into the bush. It was quite amazing to see them disappear right before my eyes. They are still there, a hidden piece of a larger whole, a felt but unseen part of the scene.

Each step of my walk vanishes too as I move forward. 

I look back.  The steps are gone behind me, now part of a larger journey still to come.

The grasses are beginning to put on their winter coat. The textures and colors I remember from one of my first foreshore excursions are back in fashion.

I too feel well seasoned.