Part Seventeen: And now the DRY ?

I write this at the start of May, and although officialdom has declared that the DRY season is here, it seems to me that the (dry) WET season hasn't finished playing games with us just yet. Early morning pale blue skies and slightly diminished humidity are encouraging signs of dry season commencement. The next day, however, brings gathering dark-tinted clouds, a predicted 34? temperature and persistent overpowering humidity, and then a sudden rush of a ten-minute heavy monsoonal squall.

The following day I look up to see, against a brilliant azure backdrop, dazzling white low-flying, ever-changing, fluffy cumulus clouds shuffling westward underneath the higher-up rippled cirrus. They are blown by a deceptive, whispering, south-easterly breeze indicating a query from nature – will it rain or will it not ?

This vacillating weather is really beginning to threaten our endurance, health and sanity: "Troppo" season at the wrong time of the year !

Nevertheless, as the sun's orbit moves ever northward, the lack of sufficient wet season rain has produced an early leaf-drop in my large deciduous "no-green-ants" tree (henceforth to be known as The Tree). As the chlorophyll leaches from the leaves, turning them from green to red to russet to brown, they fall to earth filling my pot plants and lawn with an untidy choking mess of dry, leathery leaves. It is now a weekly (soon to be daily) chore raking and scooping out/up leaves prior to running the sprinklers.

However, most of the leafy growth still remains and my bird/animal watching time has changed from early evening Chardonnay-time to 8am cappuccino-time. With the high-arc sprinkler spraying silver droplets into the lower branches, across the lawn and into the bananas, the smaller birds dart furiously in and out of the spray while the larger friarbirds perform aerial gymnastics under the showering water, sometimes using the lower branches and hanging baskets trapeze-style, to turn and somersault onto another resting spot. They are a real joy to watch – their pleasure is almost contagious.

At this time – 8am to 9am – when the sun's early rays creep like tentacles across the land and expose the previously opaque foliage, The Tree now resounds with a myriad of birdsong. Large and small, the birds revel in the spray and their melodious trilling of appreciation attracts many more relatives to join the fun.

While the bar-shouldered dove watches these antics from his prone position (one wing raised of course) on the lawn, his mate coos softly from the nest she has chosen to build under the eaves in my patio area. It was interesting to watch the process of Dad helping Mum to nestbuild in this somewhat precarious position, and I didn't have the heart to discourage them. Should I have given them an eviction notice ? Before or after they had gone to so much trouble ? Will they make too much mess or maybe too much family noise just above the bedroom louvres ? Only time will tell as I eagerly wait for the hatchlings.

Next month: The return of the ibis and an unexpected visitor.