The Scrivener: Who Knows?
…Various kinds of ducks paddle quietly along the creek amidst overhanging willows and ubiquitous eucalypts. There can be thirty or forty of them on one or more of the lakes. On the banks, mother leads a clutch of quacklings on a pilgrimage to some other place, while father brings up the rear, keeping an eye open for potential babybirdnappers….
As Brian Barratt admires the birdlife in the wetlands he tries to remember to smile nicely at the ibis.
If this sample of Brian’s beautifully-crafted prose has whetted your appetite for more pleasure from words, visit his wonderful Web site The Brain Rummager, www.alphalink.com.au/~umbidas/
Come flood, come mud, there are always water-birds. Just step through the back gate, and there they are in the wetlands behind the fence.
Various kinds of ducks paddle quietly along the creek amidst overhanging willows and ubiquitous eucalypts. There can be thirty or forty of them on one or more of the lakes. On the banks, mother leads a clutch of quacklings on a pilgrimage to some other place, while father brings up the rear, keeping an eye open for potential babybirdnappers.
The search for food is constant. Survival is the name of the game. Magpie larks, also known as peewees or mudlarks, fuss around in the grass and, of course, the mud. A solitary pied cormorant sits patiently on the rocks, waiting for something to wriggle beneath the water. A couple of white-faced herons gingerly stride on their stilts through the reeds. An ibis stares around, and takes an interest in you. Not a handsome bird, its wrinkled black featherless head and long curved beak are eerie — it’s as though you’re being watched by the Grim Reaper himself.
After heavy rain, when the lakes are full, the Battle of Britain is recreated when dozens of tiny swifts perform their splendid aerial acrobatics, targeting insects on the wing. More sedately, and at any time, a kookaburra will sit motionless on a branch, surveying the ground below. He (or she) can see what you can’t see, and takes a sudden direct swoop to catch some unsuspecting six-legged beastie or, on a good day, something with four legs.
However, the noisy miner, another Australian native bird, does not approve of kookaburras or any other bird in its territory. I once watched an attack-force of seven of them dive-bomb and persecute a single kookaburra until it flew off, retreating to the safety of the hill slope on the far side.
Today, though, it was the ibis which caught my eye. It was once known as the sacred ibis, probably because the ancient Egyptians used it as a symbol of their god Thoth. He was worshipped in several roles in various regions and at different times. As the moon-god, he looked after science, invention, wisdom and writing. He was the god of resurrection, in the return of Osiris from the dead. As the spoken word of the high god, he was instrumental in Creation. He was seriously into communicating. As the messenger of the gods, he became Hermes for the Greeks and Mercury for the Romans.
That ‘Grim Reaper’ look takes you right back to the role he played on the Day of Judgement. Your personal Day of Judgement, that is. After death, you faced trial by Osiris, during which you had to prove your purity. Your heart, regarded as the seat of the intellect as well as the emotions, was placed in one pan of a set of weighing scales. A feather, symbolising truth and justice, was placed in the other pan.
If the balance was equal and steady, you survived and were allowed to proceed to the beautiful afterlife. Otherwise, your heart was thrown to a waiting beast — part hippo, part lion, part crocodile. A death worse than fate. Where did Thoth fit into all this? He watched the whole process and recorded the verdict. Thoth the watcher knew all.
Come to think of it, next time I walk through the wetlands I must remember to smile nicely at that, er, um, beautiful ibis. You never know. Best to be on the safe side, eh?
© Copyright 2006 Brian Barratt
