There is a family of seven kookaburras living in the valley above which my house is situated. I first met one some years ago when it skewered a sandwich, which I had left for a moment on a table, with its very large beak. It appeared totally bemused as to what to do with it...so I took it back!

Since then, I've been feeding them a little most days, but it's very rare to see the whole family, particularly all lined up outside my kitchen door. This picture was taken on one of the few occasions six of them decided to wait patiently for their meal (not sandwiches!). Today was sad though: it hailed heavily and two of them sat there, drenched, for a long time, waiting for me.

The garden is fairly large and attracts many other birds as well. Amongst the trees, there's a collection of native and exotic plants, including the Agapanthus. It's quite a lovely flower but, sadly, it's also a pest because it spreads everywhere and chokes out other plants, particularly the natives. It grows massive, spider-like roots and is herbicide resistant, so without destroying the entire garden to get rid of it, the only thing one can do to slow the spread is pull out seedlings and cut off the dead flowers: a rather massive annual task. I wrote this poem on a fine day when I was tackling at least a portion of them:

A SKY BLUE MEDITATION
-----------------------------

Agapanthus...
What an inspired name for an invader.
Brought into our gardens by invitation:
Out of Africa, indeed...

One thousand blue spheres atop fleshy leaves
that bleed when cut,
and vast roots - spiders -
that cling stubbornly to the hillside.

Love and hate: the stuff of poetry.
A metaphor of life.
A sky blue meditation as I cut off the stalks
before their seeds can set.

Next year they will flower again
and I will cut off their heads once more,
Against the tide
of stealth.

(2004)