White-Throated Kingfishers sound like a jackhammer in the hands of a jazz drummer. Asian Koels can be mistaken for star-crossed Shakespearean strangers cooing goodbye one last time. Black-Winged Kites shriek as though they are auditioning for musical satires. If the world was any crueler, music labels would hire poachers to hunt down Malabar Hornbills, and steal their summer playlists.
The most beautiful bird call I have ever heard belongs to a whistler in an electric blue coat. Found in the Western Ghats, it is the Beethoven of alarm clocks.
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This morning I read this tweet from Fairfax journo Ross Gittins: My first thought was, a new kind of human being has emerged. One without empathy. This is why we don’t care anymore. Our species is devolving. For someone who only yesterday re-watched Luchino Visconti’s The Damned, my first thought rather remarkably disregarded history. Visconti’s film……
When my mother’s mother began to die of a mysterious, undiagnosable neurological illness, the first thing she lost was her sense of taste. For most families, perhaps, this would be a rather inconsequential loss, but this had severe repercussions for us. As the matriarch of our heaving, multi-generational family, she had always helmed the kitchen with an efficient, if somewhat despotic, hand.
For several years now on each weekend day I usually drive the 12 miles or so to the next small town where my son lives as there is an excellent dog walking area there thus allowing my ‘goldie’ to have a great field walk and call in to see my son.On some occasions I collect my granddaughter and she walks the dog with me.
Source: Niume | Posts
Almost 20 years after the last surviving brush-tailed rock-wallaby in Victoria was captured for a breeding program, the little marsupials are starting to see a glimmer of success.The rock-wallaby, known as “the shadow”, was once considered locally extinct in the Grampians.