Quack quack

One set of characters that seem to have benefitted from Orleigh Park's temporary submergence into the river is the ducks.

Prior to the floods, the dominant fauna in Orleigh Street were bats, and noisy miners. Occasionally a crow, or a parrot on its way to the University of Queensland grounds would drop in, only for a pack (herd? clutch?) of indignant and aggressive noisy miners to swoop in and pester it off their turf.

Now, presumably due to the new layer of fresh mud in the park, whole flocks (braces?) of ducks - those ones with the velvety brown heads - have moved into the park. I can look out the window at any time and see them wandering under the fig trees, searching the rich silt for food. They even wander over the road to explore the offerings available on the footpath in front of the houses.

Apparently a flock of ducks on land is called a "badling" or "badelynge".

Meanwhile, the mangroves struggle on...

I Heart West End

Well, another week (and more), but the mangroves haven't miraculously recovered. Not sure why I am expecting them to. But I look up each morning in the hope that they will be better, or at least a little bit improved.

On occasion, I consider the practical reality that one day, I will have to move out of West End. I think about sun-bleached Coorparoo, distant Wynnum, utterly suburban Ashgrove, and the other pockets of Brisbane with which I have a basic familiarity. When I compare the colour and recklessness and history of West End, all of the other places seem sorely wanting. But unless I can stay in my small townhouse for the rest of my life, or fall over a pile of money, leaving is inevitable.

I had a moment during the floods - perhaps a few hours, as the water rose - when every bone in my body wanted to sell the townhouse immediately, for whatever price, and move up a hill. The Gap, Highgate Hill, wherever the stinking, rising water couldn't creep. I drove around the northern suburbs while exiled, where you would never have known about the disaster unfolding to see the families strolling in the bright morning light on their unexpected day off.

That feeling went away. I want to stay, as long as possible. But I want to walk down Ryan Street without thinking about the destruction and sadness, looking for hints of the tide-line on the houses to determine just how unlucky each home was. I want the re-building works all around me to be finished. I want the mangroves to grow back.

Life goes on...

Ever since I moved to Orleigh Street, 5 years ago, I've loved walking down my street on the way to catch the bus.

I'm usually still half-asleep, and running late, and irritated about facing the cruel, cruel reality of going to work for yet another day. But one thing that brings a rare spontaneous smile to my face on those mornings, when the air still has a hint of delicate coolness before the humidity settles over it, is the street.

The giant fig trees in Orleigh Park with branches weighed down by clouds of green, the ducks foraging in the thick mangroves beneath them, the scent of the frangipani and jasmine from the neighbours' yards, the sparkle of the river, old couples wandering down the path, cyclists and joggers in bright colours, all below the clearest blue Brisbane sky. I always want to stay in that world, where morning holds promise, instead of piling onto the bus and heading towards the hectic tedium of the city.

Since the floods however, the picture is not quite right.

Blades of grass are slowing peeking through the mud in the park. The fig trees, giant and immoveable, look just the same. The cyclists and joggers are trickling back.

But the mangroves lean to one side, some dying, some still festooned with river debris, and they are brown rather than green - like the river. The road still has a sheen of mud, even after the summer storms. The neighbour's frangipani tree also leans to one side where the current of the river beat at it for two days. The neighbour's house is a building site, while the elderly residents live on the second floor. Another one was luckier, but the Queensland flag still hanging from their garage door is a reminder of the creeping water and how it made a community desperate enough to cling to each other. The cheery, colourful Orleigh Park sign is gone, taken by the Council after the water snapped its metal legs and left it lying in a broken, faded pile in the mud.

I feel as though something nasty and insidious took root in me during the floods. I don't know what it is, or how long it will subsist. But walking down my street in the morning no longer makes me feel happy. I look at the struggling mangroves, and I feel despair.

Standing by...

I started this new blog because I had the urge to write something. Now that it's here, I don't know what it was I wanted to write. But I'm sure it will come to me soon. In the mean time, there's some Brisbane photos you can check out in the links to the right.

Please come back and visit me soon. I promise to (try to) make it worth your while.