Springtime on our mountain is a magical time. Orchids are flowering on one of the ironbarks (ironbark orchids), high up in the deeply fissured bark. Birds are flirting, especially the brown doves. The two sulphur-crested cockatoos who return each September are here early. They have two mates with them, or two offspring from last year, maybe?
There are yellow robins, but no further sign of the red robin, seen once this year. The Superb lyrebirds are also busy. The leaves are glossy in the sunlight and the skies are so blue. (In England I would call it 'forget-me-not' blue today, after the flower of that name.)
We have a wombat up the hill with fresh poo telling us that it is in residence. There are sacrifices – this swamp wallaby has taken a liking to a grevillea I planted as a cutting, a gift from Ilyas, our poet friend and neighbour. The grevillea is a rosmarinifolia and the wallaby obviously enjoys its flowers – I was less than three metres away when I filmed this on Wednesday so he isn't shy.
