Monthly Archives: August 2011

He slept, making no noise apart from the sound of his breathing. His eyes were flicking under his eyelids. He was in REM sleep.

Sleeping on a problem allowed his mind to be open to ideas not hindered by realities of the waking world. Some of his greatest hypotheses had been devised while sleeping.

He almost had the answer to cold fusion. He could provide the world with a cheap, clean source of power.

In his dream state, he spoke, “I have it! The secret is to…”

…the alarm went off…

He woke. His solution was lost. It was time to feed his baby.

Locked inside her growlery she complained, “Why did this happen yet again? I start out with good intentions then it breaks down to a brabble. There’s no use trying to yell but it that’s how it ends.”

Scattered across the floor were cables, power packs, and other paraphernalia, the remains of her foozle fumbling for what was needed. It wasn’t found.

Once again she pressed the “on” button. The mobile came on briefly, stated it had low battery, beeped and switched off. Again her frustration at losing her charger descended into futile brabble.

The screen was blank, ignoring her protests.

It was the time of the dawning story. The young gathered around the kangaroo clan elder.

“I am Badagarang. This is the land of our ancestors,” the elder explained. “Each dawning we await the first touch of sunlight. We say our words of faith and bring warmth to the land.”

The clan stood ready to recite their words.

Badagarang sniffed the air, “Flee!”

Too late he sensed the smells he knew brought danger. Too late he heard the sound of dogs and the guns.

With the next dawning, none remained to say the words of faith. The sun shone but there was no warmth.

Schools and students have permission to use this graphic for non-commercial, educational purposes.

A man lay prone on the ground. A crowd gathered to look on.

“Has he fallen?”

“Did he trip?”

“Is he praying?

Finally one onlooker bent to ask, “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” came the answer, nothing more.

Not satisfied with the short answer, the onlooker moved closer, “Why are you lying on the ground that way?”

“I’ll be okay,” came the answer. “Just leave me here.”

The onlooker was persistent, “I can help you but I need to know what’s wrong.”

The prone man turned his face to speak to the onlooker, “I have an extremely bad case of acrophobia.”

The audio recording of the lyrebird was recorded on my mobile phone. The artwork is from a friend.

The evocative lilt of the lyrebird rippled its way across the valley. His song mimicked the sounds he had known since hatching. There were the sounds of the raven, the call of the currawong, the screech of the parrot. Some were even heard to mimic the bark of a dog or the music of the flute.

Across the valley, the female gave scant attention as she tended to her brood. She had no need for her mate. His work was done. She alone would care for her egg. If nothing untoward happened, her egg would hatch after seven weeks. Perhaps it too would sing.

.