Is it okay to be safe and sound, and relatively happy when so many people are trying to survive under incredibly difficult circumstances? Dunno.

I concentrate on the small things. That reminds me of Arundhati Roy’s novel, The God of Small Things, which was one of the most depressing books I’ve ever read. But I digress.

Another hot summer here in sunny Canberra (Australia). We had no rain and then fortunately the rain arrived. Plant reprieve. While we waited for this momentous event, we sprinkled some little birds which made them and my garden happy.

Check out this cutie.

Waiting.

For a boy like you.

And the whole extended wren family. Must have been over a dozen. My camera didn’t know where to point. But they were too fast. And the grass too long.

The bird garden is tiny like its inhabitants. When the garden closes in, there is always neighbourhood weeding. A few hectares. With my friends. Sometimes by myself. Note the long thin strip of newly green African Love Grass that is currently the focus of our combined attention.

Having weeded the outsides, we are now meeting in the middle. Not bad considering we don’t have elephants or power tools. Everything is done the very old-fashioned way. By hand.

The next drain photo is from another angle. We’ve woman-handled the ALG, the festuca, goose grass and paspalum from this once rampantly weedy area. My True Love helps but he still has a big to-do list that he is working his way through. The reeds and native grasses are doing their job too, filtering the run-off.

Small steps. And then there is the admin and advocacy for our natural spaces. So I sleep a lot. And the photos sit in their catalogue and another Silent Sunday opportunity slips by. And yet, here I am. It’s not even midnight! The crickets sing summer nothings. Sounds of autumn. Time to get even busier.

And to all my lovely readers, I hope you too are okay, and are able to breathe in a few small things each day. Take care.

Kind Regards.
Tracy