A week.

What a week it was! I did the presentation for new investigator’s. Suffered from the palpable relief of having done so, not to mention the memories that were stirred. The day before, I went into the laundry to do some washing. I peered up at the branches (yes, we have branches  in our laundry), over the bird’s homes on the wooden bench, and counted five little birds. One was missing, Rosie the budgie. I turned around, and saw her on the ground, in the corner. Her eyes were closed. It was a shock. You never really believe that a beloved pet  will die, even one’s of advanced age. Her partner, Cuddles, tweeted for her, longed for her. All the birds ended up in the office with me that day, needing to be close. It was a loss as real as any I have known. Final and unexpected. The day before the presentation. I couldn’t cry. Friday, I spent the day inside, and the tears came. Relief that the speech had been done and grief that my little bird had flown away.

Fete.
Fete.
Saturday, we had our school fete, a distraction of which I was grateful. Something else to concentrate on. It was a full day, a steamy hot event with lots to do. I was on baskets. I have always loved basket stalls, and my purchase of kind is the stuff of legend. A dear fellow at a school was appalled two years ago, seeing me lugging a mammoth box home around the corner, so he insisted on carrying them for me. There is something about the act of clustering similar trinkets together and wrapping them, finishing with a flourish of bows and curls. I have to say, after dealing with hundreds of them, I am a bit over it now.

The past two days, I have been unable to breathe properly. I know it has been the case for many. Too much smoke and not enough oxygen. Worries for loved ones caught in high-risk areas, worry for the volunteers. An unexpected turn of events this past week. Little bird’s hearts suddenly ceasing, bushfires breaking out. Extreme heat and danger. The remarkable thing is that we get through it. We continue to breathe. The tightness in our chests ease, the rains come, donations stream in. We witness astonishing acts of tenderness. We rebuild. We are all living in hope that the winds don’t live up to what is anticipated  tomorrow. If the rain comes and is hard and long, we shall collectively breathe much easier.

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