Nature's Single Dads - the Australian Emu
Nature’s Single Dad:
The Australian Emu :
The first 55 days
Emund is busy
preparing his
dance-floor for
partners who’ll put
him to the test.
His pedigree line
has proven with time
that it is now his
turn, to be best.
He hears them emerge
from the bush as
they gather in
answer to nature’s
call.
They dance, and then
go away, they know
they cannot stay;
there is not enough
food for them all.
They dip and they
weave as they mingle
together knowing
that each has a
chance
With his reputation,
there is no
hesitation;
he is ready to join
in the dance.
‘Bonk! Bonk,’ comes
the sound of another
arrival, ‘It’s
Emulena!’ he says
with a grin.
Others move to the
side as he leaves
them mid-stride
to greet this dancer
as she flounces in.
With sensuous,
rhythmic movement of
hips she fluffs up
her boa, it bounces
in time.
He matches her mood.
His movements are
smooth
as they twist and
twirl in their
dancing mime.
He does not fuss
about who takes the
lead, he follows and
their dance now is
ending.
With steps that are
light he glides to
the right,
he meets her, bows
deeply, head
bending.
Emulena says,
“Sorry, we cannot
stay longer, we all
must find paddocks
anew.
It matters not
whether we all stay
together,
we trust you to know
what to do.”
As she speaks, they
deposit their gifts,
and he hears, as in
chorus they say,
“We know you’ll do
magically, what you
do naturally
to deliver these in
your own way.”
After completing her
task, Emulena stands
tall and she fluffs
up her feathers once
more.
They follow her lead
in twos, and in
threes,
and promenade across
the dance floor.
Left all alone, he
goes back to his
duties and looks
closely at each pale
green shell.
He checks all for
defects. He sees
they are perfect,
so with care he
covers every one
well.
He sticks to his
task for fifty-five
days in sunshine,
strong winds and
some showers.
He values each
treasure and tends
them with pleasure
as he, turns each
egg every three
hours.
Through his long
lashes he sees
danger coming. He
drops his neck down
like a log.
Feathers flying on
high and red fur
prowls near-by;
he needs to fool
both bird and dog.
The shells have now
turned a dark bluey
green, there’s an
infertile egg in the
batch.
This egg will be
food for his hungry
brood;
but he won’t eat or
drink, ‘til they
hatch.
Each day he looks
up, and turns his
head to the sun as
it rises each
morning.
He’ll sit day and
night until the
time’s right.
He knows, that time
comes without
warning.
to be continued...
Copyright © J Eliza James | Year Posted 2012
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