Hundreds of birds streamed low over the rooftops, calling loudly, their shadows leading and suddenly punctuating the morning light. I threw open the curtains to meet the sight of the enormous flock, twenty corellas at a time zooming across the gap between the eaves and the neighbour’s ridgecap. Glowing white against the sky, wingtips laced with gold, their glory and noise made everything else seem dull, quiet, irrelevant. Despite being the fifth such parade this week, I was captivated by the spectacle.
At least, this is what I imagined seeing. In truth, it has been several years since the birds last visited, and it’s pretty well certain that they will never return. I guess all those people who loudly or quietly hated the parrots would probably be happy about this, if they weren’t also suffering from the cause of their departure. It hasn’t rained for ten years, three months and thirteen days. The land is changing, crumbling, a plantless dustbowl devoid of any self-respecting animal. The humans, who don’t have respect for anything, continue to push the suburban boundary into the wastes, swapping red dirt for minor roads and closely packed housing. There was cheering when the last bony old tree, still clinging to life amidst these trials, was felled to make way for a stormwater detention basin. That basin was never going to detain anything aside from wind-blown rubbish and stolen shopping trolleys, but was nevertheless compliant with all relevant urban development regulations.