Five Feathers
I woke before the sun, seems the thing to do out bush. Soon as the sun shows the first rays of the day. Life wakes and stretches. Calls and moans. Starts to move around, then slowly disperse and meld into the bush as the sun reaches its zenith.
I threw some dry branches onto the still hot coals from the previous night’s fire to keep the morning cold at bay while a made a coffee. I took my camp chair with me as I made my way to the only water source for miles, a dripping pipe from an old windmill. Set the chair and sat a respectable distance from the drip. I was there to observe not to obstruct.
The rising sun reflected the colour of the red dirt onto the morning clouds. Such a peaceful and quiet observation, such a privilege to experience. The calls from the birds rose with the sun. A flock of Galahs came in first to the dripping pipe. Their ruckus was load. All jostling for position either on the pipe or around the puddle on the ground. Wings beat as they hoped and squawked about. Some waited in a nearby tree as observers, ready to call danger. Without any sign of a que, the flock took to the sky as one. Circled the old windmill twice and then flew off. Only to be replaced by a flock of Spinifex pigeons waiting quietly, unobserved in the wings. Who settled into their routine quickly around the dripping pipe. Which consisted of the males putting on a display for the females fanning their tails and nodding their heads and cooing between sips of water. Finches would appear and fly down from the Gidgee trees in twos and threes and get their drink between the Spinifex pigeons. Black Cockatoo’s Would call lazily as they flew past. I have never seen them land at the dripping pipe. I wish they would as I would have a chance to find one of their tail feathers. I had a laugh at myself.
A long time ago and thousands of miles from where I am now, I was sitting under a Boab tree in a park, seeking protection in its shadow from the midday sun and the relentless heat of the day. I see this old fella on the other side of the park stand up and slowly meander through the park to me. This fella was old, sporting a long white beard and so thin he didn’t cast a shadow. He sat down cross legged in front of me and opened a small bag he was carrying. From it he pulled out accouple of carved Boab nuts. Without saying anything he reached out his arm with one in his hand. I knew he wanted me to take it. I did. The carving on the nut was so intricate, I knew some of the symbols and their meanings and some were beyond my knowledge. I turned it over in my hand. Looking at a story play out round the nut. It was a beautiful piece of art, book, story. I raise my gaze to meet his red stained eyes and gave a small upward nod of head and eyebrows.
“Twenty dollars” he said in a dry emotionless voice.
I dug into my pocket and pulled out some notes. I had thirty and handed it to him. He was about to stand when I asked about a geographical location. This place was forty kilometres out of town. It was naturally hidden so unless someone showed you, you wouldn’t know it was there. You could be standing next to it looking out and all you would see is semi desert, a dry arid land. Behind a large boulder was a track that lead you down into a crack in the earth. You follow this thin path down the side of a cliff and about halfway down the crack opens into this beautiful water filled cavern. So green with ferns and the odd tree clinging to the cliff face on either side. A cool contrast from the desert sun. A true wonder. A small waterfall drops in out of the rocks at one end and the water flows through the cavern to disappear into rocks at the other end. A true oasis. It would be 20 meters at its widest and about 80 meters long. The drop in, easily 100 meters.
I was giving a friend a lift this day when she asked if I wanted to go for a swim. I gave her a quizzical look and asked
“Is it Croc safe?”
She laughed
“Sure is, But mums the word. You aren’t allowed to tell anyone.”
“OK, as long as I won’t get eaten by a croc. I’m in.”
With that she directed me to this spot, when we arrived, I thought she was having me on. Looking around, just desert. No tree line to mark the water flow. No flocks of birds. She could see the puzzle on my face as I looked around.
“Come, let me show you the magic of this place.” She took my hand and lead me to a large boulder.
The rest is history. My friend was killed the next week, murdered by her boyfriend. I can’t come to this place without seeing her smile as I walk to the boulder and regret not asking her if there was a dreaming story here. There is, I know it in my heart.
“I know the place, He said. After what seemed an eternity. It has a Dreaming story. But for me to tell you, you need to do something for our ancestors and me.”
My heart leaped and skipped a beat. I knew it had a story. I was excited, to hear a story that will be over sixty thousand years old, older. I was quick to ask.
“What is it you need me to do?” I rushed the question out with a little too much enthusiasm.
“We want you to bring us Five tail feathers from a Black cockatoo. I will be here, waiting, bring them and we will tell you.”
With that he stood and slowly meandered back across the park. Now I will admit I was young and naïve. Full of enthusiasm and nothing else. While I knew some of their culture, I was far from any kind of understanding of how they think and see the world. Which is why there is still so much discourse to this day. It is interesting when I think back about that conversation. That the old man was comparing a task to time. He was looking at time when he requested the feathers. Not really the feathers themselves. So, what he was basically telling me was that hell will freeze over before he told me that story. But in a polite way, without offence. It would have been easier for me to go out and find five Diamonds, let alone five Black cockatoo tail feathers. This all happened over thirty-five years ago. In that time, I have crisscrossed this country in so many directions and how many of those feathers have I found. Two.
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