How do birds know when it’s going to rain?

In the starless night between continents

how do they find their way?

Such seasoned world travellers

yet they still find time to do things

like collect bits of blue plastic

and build bowers

and flirt outrageously

and sit on their eggs

‘til they’re ready to hatch.

They can stay when they need to

even though they’re made for flight.

There’s a bird in me

that senses the shifts in your story

like low pressure fronts headed my way

across vast, silent distances.

Now, though I’m tempted to fly

I’ll stay put for a while

and keep warm

and brood

and see what hatches.

You’ll know how to find me again

if the weather changes

and you want a friend.

(Written after a lunch in Katoomba with Kate Fagan, Peter Minter and Ruby.)