Author Archives: Ross Mannell

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.

.