Tuesday in the Cottage . Out the side, the farrier is attending to the horses and out the front, the plumber is trying to locate the break in the waterpipes. A bit later, the famers whose cattle  are grazing in the bottom paddocks, are coming to graze them on the drive and do some mowing. The rain is holding off which is something it doesn’t do much of this year. The weekend was WET again and we had the Girls up from Down South.

Twice in the last week, the days have started with heavy fog. One of the WURMS on Facebook calls it SEA MIST which is an expression I like. It usually leads to a hot sunny day but today is staying a little cool. Hang on while I check the verandah temperature.


Make that 22 degrees C at 9.57 am.


I have a kingfisher here at the moment. It sits on the wire at the side of the house. My Fujifilm is a bit stretched trying to get a good pic of it but I shall post what I have. Yesterday, I was up at the Old Butter Factory in Bellingen and in the Windsong  Shop they had a number of bird carvings including the one to the right – the Kingfisher.


My WINDSONG chimes are at the moment in pieces. My mother gave them to me way back in 1991. I will be taking them up for restringing and re-tuning.


Its been a busy week for me and I like having a day at home – alone. Alone has turned out to include the farrier and the plumber and the farmers.  It also includes  three kookaburras.

I have been looking for a poem about a kingfisher. most of them tend to gush. There seems to be a very narrow ridge between really exquisite beauty and the Gush.


Mary Oliver writes this poem. Wouldn’t say I am terribly fond of it but it has elements.


Mary Oliver – The Kingfisher

The kingfisher rises out of the black wave
like a blue flower, in his beak
he carries a silver leaf. I think this is
the prettiest world--so long as you don't mind
a little dying, how could there be a day in your 
	whole life
that doesn't have its splash of happiness?
There are more fish than there are leaves
on a thousand trees, and anyway the kingfisher
wasn't born to think about it, or anything else.
When the wave snaps shut over his blue head, the 
remains water--hunger is the only story
he has ever heard in his life that he could
I don't say he's right. Neither
do I say he's wrong. Religiously he swallows the 
	silver leaf
with its broken red river, and with a rough and
	easy cry
I couldn't rouse out of my thoughtful body
if my life depended on it, he swings back
over the bright sea to do the same thing, to do it
(as I long to do something, anything) perfectly.

Mary Oliver is an American Poet so I shall search a little further and see what’s been written in Australia. I shall avoid Henry Kendall who haunts me mercilessly.

While I am looking for what I want, consider this from Facebook this morning.  : 
    • Northbank Community Garden: well this aint right!!!!there has been a spate of gear going missing from the northbank community gardens.This is a non profit group who work hard to provide the peopel of bellingen cheap oganic food straight from the garden. we dont expect much, IS AINT RIGHTnow people are thieving shit from our refuge.about a minute

      Northbank Community Garden : ‎2 pair

      ofbolt cutters worth about 50 each, a hand carved sign which was loving

      carved and donated to the gardens by a local artist, as well as a few

      other pieces. THIS AINT RIGHT!!!!!If any one has any clues tell me.lets helps each other live healthy organic live without this shit.

The Welsh Poet W.H. Davies runs lyrical. A touch of the Kendall inc the doss house lifsetyle.

The Kingfisher by William Henry Davies

It was the Rainbow gave thee birth,

And left thee all her lovely hues;

And, as her mother’s name was Tears,

So runs it in my blood to choose

For haunts the lonely pools, and keep

In company with trees that weep.

Go you and, with such glorious hues,

Live with proud peacocks in green parks;

On lawns as smooth as shining glass,

Let every feather show its marks;

Get thee on boughs and clap thy wings

Before the windows of proud kings.

Nay, lovely Bird, thou art not vain;

Thou hast no proud, ambitious mind;

I also love a quiet place

That’s green, away from all mankind;

A lonely pool, and let a tree

Sigh with her bosom over me.

Now to Gerald Manly Hopkins : I think I like this one better. it has a bite to it.

AS kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame;

As tumbled over rim in Roundy wells

Stones ring; like each tucked string tells, each hung bell’s

Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name;

Each mortal thing does one thing and the same:


Deals out that being indoors each one dwells;

Selves—goes itself; myself it speaks and spells,

Crying What I do is me: for that I came.

Í say more: the just man justices;

Keeps grace: that keeps all his goings graces;


Acts in God’s eye what in God’s eye he is—

Christ—for Christ plays in ten thousand places,

Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his

To the Father through the features of men’s faces.

Ok. I shall wrap up this Kingfisher diversion with the Kingfisher Journal and a poem by Wagoner.


The blunt big slate-blue dashing cockaded head

Cocked and the tapering thick of the bill

Sidelong for a black eye staring down

From the elm branch over the pool now poised

Exactly for this immediate movement diving

In a single wingflap wingfold plunging

Slapwash not quite all the way under

The swirling water and upward instantly

In a swerving spiral back to the good branch

With a fingerling catfish before the ripples

Have reached me sitting nearby to follow it

With a flip of a shake from crestfeathers to white

Bibcoker down the crawhatch suddenly

Seeing me and swooping away cackling

From the belt streaked rusty over the full belly.




  1. Nellibellingen! I rarely get the chance to visit your blog…but when I do…it’s always inspirational!

    I love the Mary Oliver – The Kingfisher poem…it sings to me! I love Kingfishers too…!

    Shall read the other poems at a later date…

    thanks so much!!


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