#reflections

The Sea Eagle.

It had made a nest on top of the antenna — a nest which had been there for many years by the hill near the police station, so the white-bellied Sea Eagle found herself in the perfect position to see the Silver Gull land at the river’s mouth.

It cocked its head. The gull had a larger bird with it, which had just landed, and the eagle could not make out what kind of bird it was. It looked very similar to the seagull (which is the common name for the silver gull that had alighted on the beach) but it seemed, if not half as big again, at least a third as big. Why the sea eagle found this amusing, it did not know.

It flew down a little nearer, landing on one of the many sheoaks closer to the river’s mouth. These trees were coated with shag (cormorant) poop, and smelled awful, but it did not deter the eagle from watching the two birds as they made themselves comfortable by the large piece of driftwood sticking out of the sand.

They seemed to be having quite an animated conversation.

The Sea Eagle had never been particularly good at reading lips and the fact the birds did not have lips but beaks, made it even harder. All she could really hear, from her precarious perch on a tree limb (which was much too fragile to hold a bird her size) was loud and obnoxious squawking.

Perhaps they had found something to eat?

The smaller bird strutted back and forth on the golden sand, arching its neck and glaring down at its orange legs for reasons the eagle could not fathom. She glanced down at her own pale feet where her talons grasped the thickest part of the branch. Those birds did not appear to have talons. In fact they seemed to be wearing flippers, or fins, on their feet which, in her humble opinion, wouldn’t catch any decent food at all.

She’d never really thought about this before. If they couldn’t catch food in those ridiculous shoes, how the heck were they going to be able to eat anything? Perhaps it was the reason why the smaller bird (which seemed to be yelling at the top of its voice while the larger one stood there looking slightly nonplussed) seemed to be so angry?

‘Maybe I should go down to that beach and see what the heck is going on,’ the eagle thought to herself. ‘I can help these two ridiculous birds get some food, and then they can leave.’ 

She had already decided having new strangers in her town, especially birds she had never seen before (the taller one was really very odd-looking) was not something she felt comfortable with, especially if they were going to continue being as loud and as noisy as they currently were.

The silver gull tried to peck the bigger bird.

‘Right, that’s it,’ thought the sea eagle angrily. ‘I’m going in.’

She flapped her strong wings once and then twice as the springy branch underneath her bounced up and down, then let go with her talons and swooped towards the two gulls, scaring the bejebus out of them as she landed on the piece of driftwood.

‘What the by-crikey-Jimmy-Joe-Bobs is going on,’ she asked. ‘And who the heck are you?’

./   ./   

Pepe, after recovering from the huge bird landing so closely beside them, glanced at his smaller companions. ‘Uh, so this is Aaaargh, and the tiny one is Ambrosia.’

‘Ambrosia? Where?’ The sea eagle glared at him. 

She really was quite large, Pepe thought. He didn’t mean that in a bad way. She was just really big. Her wing span, something he’d noticed as she’d flown in towards them, had been at least two metres across.

‘The ladybird.’ He gulped. ‘The ladybird is Ambrosia. Ambrosia Honeybun Polka Dot, if we’re going to get picky. Which we’re not,’ he added quickly, noticing the hook on the end of the eagle’s beak.

‘A ladybird?’ The eagle cocked its head. ‘I haven’t seen one of those in quite some time. Where is this ladybird?’

‘On my back,’ said Aaaargh loudly.

‘She’s not deaf, you fool,’ hissed Pepe. ‘She’s an eagle. She’s got good eyes.’

‘How does that make you not deaf,’ Aaaargh squawked.

‘I don’t know. How come you’re blind, when you’re also supposed to have good eyes,’ Pepe hissed again ‘This is a sea eagle we’re dealing with, mate. I suggest you be on your best behaviour.’

The eagle ignored their chatter. ‘Where is this ladybird?’

‘I told you where she is. She’s on my back.’ Aaaargh began to jump up and down in a most unsightly manner.

‘Show me,’ the eagle demanded.

Pepe noticed Ambrosia crawl out from under one of Aaaargh’s silver-white feathers.

‘Hello,’ said the ladybird. ‘My name is Ambrosia Honeybun Polka Dot.’ She lifted her bonnets and wiggle-flew over to the eagle’s beak, landing quite carefully right on the end of the hook.

The white-bellied Sea Eagle crossed her great golden eyes slightly as she stared at the tiny beetle. ‘Hello,’ she replied. ‘It is nice to meet someone with good manners. I’m Leucogaster. Your companions are very noisy.’

‘I beg your pardon,’ said Pepe. He was beginning to feel quite cross. ‘I’m Pepe, and I’ve been very polite.’ He glared at Aaaargh. ‘It’s this not-very-nice gull that’s been making all the noise.’

‘I have too,’ said Aaaargh. ‘And, as I said, it’s because there’s weather coming in, and you’re standing around telling me everything’s fine, and everyone’s fine, and they aren’t fine, and we’re not fine, and we have to catch the next stiff breeze if we’re going to be on our way, so why you decided here would be a good place to stop is beyond me, Pepe, because we need to get Ambrosia further north before she falls asleep. You know what happens if she falls asleep, right?’

‘What happens when you fall asleep,’ the sea eagle asked the tiny ladybird sitting on the end of her nose.

‘When I fall asleep in the winter time I go into hibernation,’ the ladybird replied. ‘And when I wake up the world is like new again, which is wonderful, but,’ and Ambrosia wiggle-flew back to Aargh and landed on his head. ‘I forget everyone I’ve ever met, and I just don’t want to do that. Not yet. I’m not ready to forget things.’

‘Sometimes it’s good to forget things,’ the eagle replied quietly. ‘I try to forget all the eggs that didn’t make it, and I try to forget all the people who keep trying to remove my nest from the top of that big aerial back there.’ She glanced back at the hill. ‘And I just try to get on with living my life without being harassed all the time by people who don’t know what they’re doing.’

‘I understand that,’ Ambrosia Honeybun Polka Dot said from Aaaargh’s silvered temple. ‘But I have children, little people, to get back to, and gardens to visit, and aphids to eat, and I just ate my last one. Winter is upon us, and I’m just not far enough north to stay awake yet. I can’t go to sleep. Not yet.’

‘Then why did you stop,’ the sea eagle asked.

‘Aaaargh can’t keep flying, no matter how good a pilot he thinks he is,’ Pepe replied, wincing as Aaaargh pecked him on the shoulder. ‘He needs to rest.’

‘Then I will make sure we get you to where you need to go,’ said the Sea Eagle. ‘I have family, other Sea Eagles, all the way up this coast so we will be able to get you to a warm place, Ambrosia. I promise.’ She would have smiled, but she had a beak not a mouth, so smiling was not possible.

‘Thank you,’ said Ambrosia Honeybun Polka Dot, adventurer extraordinaire. ‘That is all I’ve ever asked for. When it does become springtime, I will try to make it all the way back to my favourite little person, and perhaps I will be able to bring children of my own.’

‘Oh good, I’m glad we’ve got that sorted out,’ said Aargh. ‘Now, where’s the nearest pub? I feel like some hot chips.’

The eagle huffed and fluffed up her feathers. 

‘Typical seagull,’ she said, but it was not unkindly. She turned to look at Pepe once more, her golden eyes narrowing. ‘What kind of bird are you, exactly,’ she asked. ‘I’ve never seen anything like you before.’

‘I don’t really know,’ Pepe replied. ‘I know my mum was a Silver Gull, but I don’t know who my dad was. I’m bigger than normal seagulls, but smaller than the Albatross and bigger than a Pacific Gull. I just can’t figure it out.’

‘Then you must be a very special bird indeed,’ said the eagle as she rose gracefully from the driftwood branch. ‘Come on then. Let’s go.’

Pepe blinked. It was possibly the nicest thing any avian had ever said to him. 

Whether you wear black shorts or sunglasses, have Supernatural tendencies, or like to run around yelling out code words with your cousins while you’re playing a game of pool, whether you like dressing up in skintight red suits, have hands with long scissors, or think you might be Out of Time, there is always a Sea Eagle, and always a Ladybird, and always a few raucous seagulls. You can find these birds in the strangest locations sometimes, and often where they aren’t meant to be.

That is the magic of storytelling.

C.S. Capewell aka Kate Capewell.

P.S. When we got our very first home loan several years ago, we were helped by a wonderful group of individuals from a number of different teams and businesses who helped us realise our dream. I will never be able to thank them enough. I still owe someone some chocolate, and I have never forgotten.

Kate x

For the original story of Ambrosia Honeybun Polka Dot, head over to the wonderful team at https://wildeyedpress.com.au

If you need insurance there is also a wonderful group you can get hold of, but they are pretty good at doing their own advertising. There are also a couple of wonderful banks, health insurers, and TV stations in WA and in the Eastern States you might want to watch if you ever come to Australia. There are decent people in the world, you just need to know what to look out for.

Chapter Two continued (section 2) __Untitled

The restaurant had a boardwalk type thing that sat over the water of the harbour. For some reason, Hans felt drawn to the smell of the salty air and the distant stink of marine diesel, so once he’d made his order he grabbed a number by its silver pole and wound his way through the tables, apologising to the other mindless patrons wandering around without a care in the world.

He didn’t call them arseholes out loud, but he thought it loudly and he hoped they heard him.

I’m being ridiculous.

The tables out here were like picnic benches, polished yet worn, uncomfortable, horrendously awkward, but offering a peace that he simply wasn’t feeling.

The chair part things were also attached to the table somehow, and he only just prevented himself from performing a spectacular trip as he went to sit down. At least the lights were dim.

He should have ordered a drink.

Sailboats sat in the murky water under overhead lights that looked like they hadn’t been cleaned in years. There was even the occasional high powered “yacht”, which had never been a thing in the town until recently.

‘Yatch-ett,’ Hans muttered under his breath. It had taken him quite some time as a kid to say that right. He knew they were “yotts” so why some damn fool had written it like that was beyond him.

Then again, much of the English language was beyond him when it came to spelling things out. It was the one thing he’d had a problem with in school. Maths hadn’t been an issue, science made sense most of the time, history was like storytelling but with real people, but English itself, written down, was stupid. Well, it was or he was, and he preferred to think it was, because no one had ever called him stupid aside from Solway, and she only got away with it because she was his sister.

He took a deep breath of the harbour air. Maybe he should have been a whaler like Granddad. They didn’t have to spell shit. The fact no one was a whaler anymore because it wasn’t nice and there weren’t too many whales, was not the point. It was the idea of being out on a big metal ship and fighting the elements, being shoved from one side of the boat to the other by massive waves while you had a rope tied around your waist, and being whacked by various loose machinery that should be tied down but wasn’t. . . That was what he liked about it.

It is highly possible I’m having a thirty-something crisis. He grinned to himself. Cool. At least it isn’t boring.

He’d never seen a large hairy dog on a ship before, so he supposed it might not have worked out for him. How he’d managed to get into the Hospitality industry was beyond him as well. Then again, he hadn’t had the tendency to turn into a dog when he’d started so . . .

He’d been mumbling to himself. ‘I can’t even cook.’

‘That’s why you’re here.’

The voice came from beside him and he glanced sideways. ‘Oh good, you’ve arrived. Finally.’

Solway frowned. ‘You’re being more of a prick than usual, Hans. What happened today?’ She sat down opposite him.

‘You look nice,’ he replied. ‘Not too nice though, so my chances of pickin–‘

‘God, you’re an arsehole.’

He grinned. ‘I never said I wasn’t.’ Then he frowned. He hadn’t even checked out the other table to see what else was on the menu. This was highly unusual for him. ‘I need a drink.’

Solway ignored him. ‘You’ve picked a nice spot.’ She looked around. ‘You can see the entire restaurant from here.’

‘And they can see me, which is more to the point.’

‘Are you putting yourself on show again?’

‘When do I not?’

‘True.’

‘Let’s talk about you for a change,’ Hans muttered, trying to change the subject.

‘That’s not why I’m here.’

He growled.

Solway growled back, then took a deep breath. ‘We can’t do this here.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘You know.’ She shoved a lock of blonde hair behind one ear. ‘If we get angry with each other, you know what happens.’

‘Oh right,’ Hans scowled. ‘Dogs. I need a drink right now. Please go and get me a drink, Sol. I’ve had a shit day and I need a drink.’

‘Then maybe you should go and get me a drink too,’ Solway grinned. ‘That way, you’ll pay for it and I won’t have to.’

He shrugged. ‘Good point. What do you want.’

‘Whatever you’re having.’

‘Bourbon?’

‘Sounds good to me.’

Hans got up. smoothed down his dress pants, realised he was still wearing his elastic-sided boots, shook his head and began walking to the bar. He could have picked up three women on the way, but he didn’t. He just wanted to spend some time with his sister tonight, so if the universe could get that sorted for him, that’d be grand.

On the way back to the table, a woman grabbed at his sleeve. He stopped, and tried not to glare.

‘Can I help you,’ he asked politely.

‘Do you people do sandwiches?’ She smiled. He may very well have detected an American accent.

‘I beg your pardon?’

The smile faltered slightly, then came back with a brightness that almost blinded him. ‘Do you work here?’

‘No.’

‘Oh. How do I get someone’s attention around here?’ She seemed pretty enough in a normal, not too exciting, kind of way.

‘Usually, you go to the front there and make an order.’ He looked at his sleeve. She still clutched it. ‘Do you mind?’

‘Not really.’

‘Well, I do.’ He pulled his arm out of her grip. ‘Have a nice night, lady. See you later.’

‘See you later?’ A frown puckered her forehead.

‘Not literally. Just let go of me. Oh.’ He grimaced. ‘You have. Well, anyway. Bye.’

‘Bye?’

‘Yes.’ He stomped back to Solway, not shouldering anyone out of the way and definitely not spilling a drop of their drinks. ‘Drink it quickly,’ he snarled. ‘I’m going back for more.’

Solway started laughing. ‘What’s happened now?’

He told her. She laughed louder. ‘Priceless,’ she said.

‘You think?’

‘I do. Thank you,’ she added as a nice young lady dropped some bread rolls in front of them.

‘Oh look,’ said Hans sarcastically. ‘No whipped garlic butter. Amazing.’

‘What the hell are you talking about?’

‘Never mind.’ He drained his glass, ice clinking against his teeth. ‘Hurry up.’

‘I shouldn’t have anymore, I’m driving.’

Hans sighed. ‘Can I not get you an Uber or something?’

‘No, Hans. I just came down because you sounded off.’

‘Look, it’s not that bad. I’m just being dramatic, which as you know, should be fairly normal to you, being a girl and all that.’

‘I am not going to say the first word that came into my head then, Hans, because, as a “girl”, I would not usually say it, but let me tell you one thing. It was not a very nice word.’ Solway glared at him. ‘At all.’

‘Okay. Sorry.’ He wasn’t sorry. ‘My bad.’

‘Don’t be pretentious.’

‘That’s a big word, Solway.’

Her eyes got all squinty. ‘Stand up.’

‘What?’

Stand up. You said you were going to get another drink, so stand up you, you… not very nice person.’

‘Why?’

Because I am going to smack your arse like the child you are being.’

‘I dare you,’ Hans stood up.

Solway slapped him hard on the backside and it actually really stung.

‘Ow. Fuck. You bitch.’

‘Get another drink, areshole. If you’re lucky I’ll still be here when you get back.’

‘Fine.’

He stomped back into the restaurant, realised there were several women watching him and grinning quite openly (they had possibly seen Solway whack him), stopped stomping, smoothed down his hair, avoided the table where the American was now studying what seemed to be a vegemite sandwich from the kids menu, and headed to the bar.

‘Make it a double,’ he said. ‘Clearly, I need one.’

‘Clearly,’ said the bartender and made him one without delay.

Chapter two to be continued…. :)

The Temper

I was going to show you something else this morning but I’m feeling a spot of rage coming on. It’s possibly why, with the original story/title of The Temper, it felt like like it didn’t quite hit the mark.

When I got to the fourth story of that book (you know, the one I wrote, not anyone else) I called it Out Of Time, because the name I’d been looking at for a long time to call the story was “Extempore”. It didn’t quite fit what I was looking at though. It didn’t sit right.

With a word like “Temper”, you get to see it in its entire meaning. The “pounding into shape” of a mood or mindset, the flash of rage those who don’t know me very well always seem to be surprised by, and the immediate control I will insert on myself when this happens. Not everyone can do this. It doesn’t make it an excuse, and sometimes it can be used to your advantage. Hence the alternative title of “The Tempest”, (which unfortunately had been used as a title many years ago for another book).

It (the word Temper) can never be used to your advantage, though, if you can’t control it. Imagine going into a boxing ring and flipping out at your opponent while he’s sizing you up for a nice meal. He’s going to win because he’s in control, and you’re not. Rage, and fury are two very different things.

So, when one is not in a boxing ring and one is capable of wounding with one’s voice instead of fists or whatever, one still needs to apply that very strict code of conduct to oneself to stop yourself from “beasting out”. It doesn’t always work, and sometimes it is almost impossible to control (I know this one for a fact when it comes to the written word), but the written word is possibly the ONLY place where one can go back and put things to right before they pass them on… Especially if the message conveyed is on someone else’s behalf because that other person was too much of a coward to say it themselves. It happens a lot, and sometimes it happens without their consent

If that is the case, as I have helped construct messages on other people’s behalf (my sons, husband, friends), then those people need to once again look at the title of this particular piece. Using my words without my consent to send a message will only get you deeper in the poop. Understanding whose temper is controlling who really depends on the time of day, so don’t get too carried away with yourself. Perhaps take a leaf out of your own “Book,” and learn how and why one needs to control one’s temper.

People also need to understand when a dream is a dream and not reality. Even if it’s a dream that smacks of deja vu, or a dream that appears to be a recurring one, it is still a dream, and not reality. If it hasn’t actually happened, it likely won’t happen at all. It’s like a little switch has popped on in your head to tell you beforehand that something might be difficult to control and it’s a pretty good indicator you’ll know exactly how to control it if you were ever in that situation. You’re welcome.

Dear East Perth Lockup,

I’m wondering whether you still have my fingerprints on file. They may have changed slightly over the years, and acquired a scar or two. Many of your present day members may not remember me, but I do know (and remember) an old Ivan who may remember that night well.

It was night, to be fair, and i don’t believe it was dreary. The small, sparkly, poo-brown sigma had been the vehicle I drove at that time. It had been perhaps, purchased from another former member of your mob, and I happened to be driving it at the time I was caught wandering along Hay Street East.

My passenger, and I did have one if I recall, was a little person, but not a child, who happened to be, you guessed it, sitting in the passenger seat. My clothing, if I recall, consisted of one dress, purchased previously on Barrack Street (but not on the same night), peach, one leather belt, oddly shaped and white (it may not have been, but I did wear it with that dress on more than one occasion) and a pair of white leather slingbacks.

Your constables managed to finally get me to pull over when I considered it safe, that being on the lower corner as one turns left at the bottom of Barrack Street, possibly near where the Army Surplus Store once stood. They then proceeded to take myself and my passenger to the above address.

It may have been quite a surprise to one of the members on staff when the sister-in-law of his former “teammate” walked through the door. He may have indeed said some very inappropriate words along the lines of “What are you doing here” with a question mark somewhere in that sentence. He may have even laughed a great deal at the conundrum his former teammate’s sister-in-law found herself in at that time.

Let it be said, I never said I wasn’t a terrible teenager or young adult, but I did always manage to get to work, and the courthouse on time, regardless of distraction.

Thank you for your time.

Kate Capewell (nee Tew).

P.S. Paddy, also a former teammate, may remember his larks around the Dongara township. I think that’s on file as well, nothing to do with me, and quite a few years later.

I wish them and their families love, luck and hugs. May your ships always enter a safe harbour. CSC.

Does A Bear Poop in the Woods

Tactical down time. Hans would always be taller than his sister, well, once he grew up. It’s not a hard thing to understand. Cato had been tall as well, and the walk uphill to the Expensive Earl possibly required long legs.

Responding to this particular letter, thought Vergs, was possibly beyond the capabilities of a former belly dancer, so she sat back and mused the tomfoolery of the north road instead. Many a laugh had been spent there (despite the far distant and sad memories of her former housemate’s loss), and she had the photographs to prove it, including cleaning bathtubs and strange curly-headed men wearing shower caps. There are, after all, many Waynes around, are there not?

Grouping all these memories together is beyond many people, but understanding the meaning behind it all is possibly exactly what one might be looking for here if they needed to be rest assured the memories were far from dim. Check your six.

Rainbow warriors are usually tall, milord, and never live too far away in the scheme of things. They also know exactly who their brothers and sisters are — and their friends.

Dear East Perth Lockup,

I’m wondering whether you still have my fingerprints on file. They may have changed slightly over the years, and acquired a scar or two. Many of your present day members may not remember me, but I do know (and remember) an old Ivan who may remember that night well.

It was night, to be fair, and i don’t believe it was dreary. The small, sparkly, poo-brown sigma had been the vehicle I drove at that time. It had been perhaps, purchased from another former member of your mob, and I happened to be driving it at the time I was caught wandering along Hay Street East.

My passenger, and I did have one if I recall, was a little person, but not a child, who happened to be, you guessed it, sitting in the passenger seat. My clothing, if I recall, consisted of one dress, purchased previously on Barrack Street (but not on the same night), peach, one leather belt, oddly shaped and white (it may not have been, but I did wear it with that dress on more than one occasion) and a pair of white leather slingbacks.

Your constables managed to finally get me to pull over when I considered it safe, that being on the lower corner as one turns left at the bottom of Barrack Street, possibly near where the Army Surplus Store once stood. They then proceeded to take myself and my passenger to the above address.

It may have been quite a surprise to one of the members on staff when the sister-in-law of his former “teammate” walked through the door. He may have indeed said some very inappropriate words along the lines of “What are you doing here” with a question mark somewhere in that sentence. He may have even laughed a great deal at the conundrum his former teammate’s sister-in-law found herself in at that time.

Let it be said, I never said I wasn’t a terrible teenager or young adult, but I did always manage to get to work, and the courthouse on time, regardless of distraction.

Thank you for your time.

Kate Capewell (nee Tew).

P.S. Paddy, also a former teammate, may remember his larks around the Dongara township. I think that’s on file as well, nothing to do with me, and quite a few years later.

I wish them and their families love, luck and hugs. May your ships always enter a safe harbour. CSC.

Why This?

Perhaps,

It’s the glimmer on the water

A thousand quicksilver mirrors dancing over breeze-blown ripples

Reflected below in lightning streaks of gold

The tightness of salt-encrusted skin, baking on a gritty towel

Amidst the surprisingly pleasant scent of warm sunscreen

It’s the swift gasp when one bursts from the waves or

The sweet drag on muscle as we navigate tide and current

Confident in the body’s strength

‘

Or maybe

It’s dark thunderheads on the horizon and

wind-whipped particles of sand peppering our faces, twisting our hair

And,

with an indrawn breath, the rush of ozone and salt

That lets us know there’s an adventure on its way . . .

And, more distantly, the crash and boom as the ocean throws herself wildly at the land and we

Are home in bed, lulled to sleep in the knowledge we are safe.

‘

But it could be memories

Of a toddler’s dimpled bottom staggering towards the water

Arms high, fingers plucking the air in anticipation

Or simple treasures, like spiralled seashells in sandy palms

Weathered glass, smoothed and curling wood or

Footprints glanced over shoulders, and other footprints read

Temporary stories that wash away with the next high tide

‘

It could be all those things and

Perhaps its more

Maybe there isn’t a reason at all.

Flight

A plane appeared overhead at around eleven am. It went over once, turned rather gracefully, and came over again, dipping one wing once as if to say it had seen him.

Bart felt quite exposed. Had Solway been contacting some of those people he’d never met, to save his sorry arse? He didn’t know whether to be pleased about it or not. He decided he was pleased, and even waved as the plane slowly disappeared in a northerly direction.

He’d been making rather boring clips about the boringness of wattle, but the absolute gloriousness of what could live in it, that including many snails (which were white), birds (which were many colours), and a very large goanna who eyed him carefully as if it thought he might be rather good to climb up. The running away very quickly part, which Bart decided he should get a little bit better at, had been rather amusing when he looked back on the very wobbly video of it, and that had been just before he’d spotted the plane that had spotted him.

He was in quite a good mood. Possibly because he could no longer see the goanna.

Splendid appeared in his proper form just after the plane went, and didn’t change into a tall man in a blue suit gone brown at all. Neither did his two remaining girlfriends change into rather attractive women wearing bomber jackets. It was slightly disappointing, but settled Bart somewhat as he assumed he was getting better, mentally at least.

No one spoke in his head either.

He wondered how long it would be before Solway got there. He could kind of do with a cuddle.

Solway, driving along an unnamed highway with her brother in the passenger seat, wondered why he seemed to resemble some kind of large black sheep dog this morning. She should probably not have said that out loud.

‘You what now?’ Hans said. ‘Seeeeeerrriously?’

‘It is fair to say you possibly need a haircut.’

‘Now listen here, you cheeky shit,’ Hans said, not sounding in the least bit grumpy. ‘I’ll have you know that longish hair on men is the thing now, so there.’

‘Of course it is.’

‘Stop laughing.’ He smoothed back his dark brown hair, and shook it, which made her laugh even louder.

‘You look like… well… like a labradoodle now.’

‘You can fuck right off, and watch the road instead of me, because, despite how physically attractive I might be, which I am I’ll have you know, you are supposed to look at the road when you’re driving.’

‘I am merely glancing at you occasionally,’ Solway replied. ‘For, after all, dear sweet little brother of mine…’

‘I am quite a bit taller than you.’

‘Don’t interrupt me… I have missed you a great deal, and it is nice to see my baby brother sitting next to me.’

‘It is also probably nice for your wonderful, understatedly beautiful, and amazing brother to pay for this rather expensive rental,’ said Hans, leaning back into the comfortable leather seat and closing his eyes.

‘It is nice,’ Solway agreed. ‘Thank you, again.’

‘You’ll pay me back, I’m sure.’

‘Unlikely.’

‘That’s what I thought.’ He smiled and Solway grinned as well. This is exactly what she’d needed.

‘Okay,’ she said about ten minutes later. ‘According to Tony, Bart’s not too far from where we left the road the first time.’

Hans sat up. ‘This is the part where I should start navigating loudly in the passenger seat, isn’t it.’

‘It really depends on how fast you want me to go.’

‘Very fucking slowly, if you don’t mind. If you could possibly not scratch the paint work, that would also be desirable.’

‘I’m not quite sure –.’ Solway said, slowing down considerably.’ – whether that is going to be possible. Hang on. Here we go.’

‘Oh. Oh fuck… Weeeeeeeeeeee,’ said Hans as they turned onto the uphill track and he began to bounce around inside the cab.

He sounded happy, and for the first time in the last however many hours, Solway felt not half as worried as she had been. After all, how can one be worried when one is doing things one absolutely loves to do – one thing being seeing if you can get your little brother to hit a part of his body against something pointy in an extremely expensive, well rounded (with no pointy bits whatsoever), four-wheel-drive – and the other thing, hopefully, retrieving her boyfriend.

________________o_______________ ( <– this is representing a rising sun, or a sunrise, or a sunwalk)

It had been some time since Bart had seen the plane, but not quite as long as when he started second guessing himself and wondering if it had actually been there for him.

Nobody did things like that for Bartholomew Branson.

Then he thought about the fact the plane had indeed circled back overhead, and had indeed dipped a wing, and decided not to argue with himself about it. He forgot that decision rather quickly though, and once again started the whole argument with himself in his head until he got to the point he was getting extremely tired of listening to himself, and if anyone could just turn up magically like they were supposed to, that would be grand.

He decided to make himself a long convoluted video on the meaning of life, but had only just got into the revelations of mysterious men on hilltops when a very large and menacing looking four-wheel-drive appeared around a group of tuarts and bumped slowly towards him, making hardly any sound at all. Bart thanked his lucky stars he had put on tracksuit pants three hours beforehand and even then, had decided changing behind a tree would be an extremely good idea, because if there was one thing Bart had, it was decorum.

‘Kitten,’ he cried, and actually tried not to, when the driver of the large, terrifying vehicle smiled widely at him from under a pair of wrap-around sunglasses. 

Then he saw the guy in the passenger seat. He sincerely hoped the man was Solway’s brother, whom he’d only met once several months beforehand, because if it wasn’t, he had serious doubts he’d be able to compete against him in any way whatsoever.

The man put up his hand, wiggled his fingers at Bart in a very unsatisfying greeting then leapt gracefully from the passenger seat while the vehicle was still moving (albeit extremely slowly) tripped over something Bart could not see, and landed face first in a wattle bush.

Bart decided he liked this man anyway, regardless of how good-looking he seemed to be, and, he decided if he was good-looking it was possibly, not obviously, but possibly because he could very well be Solway’s brother because good looks run in families, or so he was told once by a very angry drunk man at a pub.

He wondered why he’d decided to remember that now.

‘Hi,’ said Solway, rolling down the ultra cool, deeply-tinted, electric window of the driver’s side of the vehicle. ‘Wait until I turn this thing off, because I haven’t quite figured it out yet and don’t know which button I’m supposed to press.’

‘It has buttons?’

’It has! Isn’t that exciting?’

‘So exciting.’

 They smiled widely at each other while Solway inadvertently turned the headlights on and off. Her brother had rolled himself athletically out of the wattle bush and leapt to his feet with gymnastic preciseness. Then he spent the next five minutes or so wiping every little piece of dirt he could find on his rather expensive looking clothing off, checked himself in the passenger side rear view mirror, and exclaimed …

‘Oh hey, You’re filming.’

‘Oh shit,’ said Bart. ‘I am too. Do you want to be in it?’

‘No thanks. I have other obligations.’

‘Seriously?’

‘Not exactly, but yeah, I don’t know whether I can or not, as I’m not sure how it would affect my business contract, and I’d have to run it past my new restaurant manager and you know what, fuck it, okay.’

‘I think you could be my new best friend,’ Bart said from under Solway’s rather rough and tumble hugging.

‘Let’s not get too excited,’ said Hans.

‘Do you need a hug,’ said Bart.

‘No. I don’t. Do you have coffee? I’d like one of those.’

~~~o~~~,~’___oo__~~,~’**8)>

The Temple

Do you remember the conversation had from a car window to a man?

I do. It was a shared experience. It was personal. Nobody needed to back down, and I may have told him to pick his rubbish up, which may very well have been met with laughter. He did, by the way. Everyone recognises mum’s voice. I also apologised for using the mum voice, which may have made it even funnier.

Do you remember the conversation had outside a little house? ‘They’re getting cleverer,’ she said, and she wasn’t wrong. She didn’t recognise this place anymore. I admired her strength and her courage and told her so. It was meant to be kept private.

Do you know what it means when we go down to the beach and use the salt water to wash it all away? We knew each other then, and we know each other now, but we do not know each other. How does that sound?

Many years ago, when I was young, a priest told his gathering that the church was not a building and it was not a place. It was inside you, and it still is. You look up, inside yourself and you see the ceiling with the exposed beams, even if you’ve never seen anything like it before, and you may wonder where it came from. It’s yours. Perhaps the ceiling has gold leaf, perhaps it’s simply a golden wood, but if you watch carefully you can see the tiny little golden flecks of light coming down from that ceiling and wash its way around you, and help you feel stronger.

Do you remember that? It is your temple. You have the power to choose between what is right, and what is wrong.

— What is morally right, and what is morally wrong.

— What will destroy, and what will live and let live without creating a stain on your soul. This will bring you here, to this present, to your gift, to you, “beau”. Not all of us carry it lightly. Not all of us can walk through the crowd unnoticed, and sometimes it is simply a choice of whether one wishes to be noticed or not.

You can turn it off, if you want to. You can pretend it didn’t happen. You can simply forget we ever existed, if it makes you feel better. Will it make you feel better?

Then walk back down to the water’s edge, and release your little fish into the water. Watch him swim away. He’s not coming back, and you are the one who made that choice.

She’s not coming back, and you made that choice. I did not instigate your behaviour. That choice falls on you, and you alone. Love is not always what you want it to be. It’s not always pretty and unfortunately, it’s not always kind. This is the difference between nature and superstition, and I thank her for my time.

Don’t just read the sections of a book that interest or excite you. Read the whole bloody thing. A fifteen second miracle lasts as long as fifteen seconds. A lasting impression is not a cannon ball run.

Perhaps none of it will make sense to you. Perhaps all of it does. Perhaps that’s the entire point. Perhaps, you should start listening to what really matters, and not just what you think might matter. It’s always your choice. It’s never mine.

The Sea Eagle.

It had made a nest on top of the antenna — a nest which had been there for many years by the hill near the police station, so the white-bellied Sea Eagle found herself in the perfect position to see the Silver Gull land at the river’s mouth.

It cocked its head. The gull had a larger bird with it, which had just landed, and the eagle could not make out what kind of bird it was. It looked very similar to the seagull (which is the common name for the silver gull that had alighted on the beach) but it seemed, if not half as big again, at least a third as big. Why the sea eagle found this amusing, it did not know.

It flew down a little nearer, landing on one of the many sheoaks closer to the river’s mouth. These trees were coated with shag (cormorant) poop, and smelled awful, but it did not deter the eagle from watching the two birds as they made themselves comfortable by the large piece of driftwood sticking out of the sand.

They seemed to be having quite an animated conversation.

The Sea Eagle had never been particularly good at reading lips and the fact the birds did not have lips but beaks, made it even harder. All she could really hear, from her precarious perch on a tree limb (which was much too fragile to hold a bird her size) was loud and obnoxious squawking.

Perhaps they had found something to eat?

The smaller bird strutted back and forth on the golden sand, arching its neck and glaring down at its orange legs for reasons the eagle could not fathom. She glanced down at her own pale feet where her talons grasped the thickest part of the branch. Those birds did not appear to have talons. In fact they seemed to be wearing flippers, or fins, on their feet which, in her humble opinion, wouldn’t catch any decent food at all.

She’d never really thought about this before. If they couldn’t catch food in those ridiculous shoes, how the heck were they going to be able to eat anything? Perhaps it was the reason why the smaller bird (which seemed to be yelling at the top of its voice while the larger one stood there looking slightly nonplussed) seemed to be so angry?

‘Maybe I should go down to that beach and see what the heck is going on,’ the eagle thought to herself. ‘I can help these two ridiculous birds get some food, and then they can leave.’ 

She had already decided having new strangers in her town, especially birds she had never seen before (the taller one was really very odd-looking) was not something she felt comfortable with, especially if they were going to continue being as loud and as noisy as they currently were.

The silver gull tried to peck the bigger bird.

‘Right, that’s it,’ thought the sea eagle angrily. ‘I’m going in.’

She flapped her strong wings once and then twice as the springy branch underneath her bounced up and down, then let go with her talons and swooped towards the two gulls, scaring the bejebus out of them as she landed on the piece of driftwood.

‘What the by-crikey-Jimmy-Joe-Bobs is going on,’ she asked. ‘And who the heck are you?’

\./   \./   

Pepe, after recovering from the huge bird landing so closely beside them, glanced at his smaller companions. ‘Uh, so this is Aaaargh, and the tiny one is Ambrosia.’

‘Ambrosia? Where?’ The sea eagle glared at him. 

She really was quite large, Pepe thought. He didn’t mean that in a bad way. She was just really big. Her wing span, something he’d noticed as she’d flown in towards them, had been at least two metres across.

‘The ladybird.’ He gulped. ‘The ladybird is Ambrosia. Ambrosia Honeybun Polka Dot, if we’re going to get picky. Which we’re not,’ he added quickly, noticing the hook on the end of the eagle’s beak.

‘A ladybird?’ The eagle cocked its head. ‘I haven’t seen one of those in quite some time. Where is this ladybird?’

‘On my back,’ said Aaaargh loudly.

‘She’s not deaf, you fool,’ hissed Pepe. ‘She’s an eagle. She’s got good eyes.’

‘How does that make you not deaf,’ Aaaargh squawked.

‘I don’t know. How come you’re blind, when you’re also supposed to have good eyes,’ Pepe hissed again ‘This is a sea eagle we’re dealing with, mate. I suggest you be on your best behaviour.’

The eagle ignored their chatter. ‘Where is this ladybird?’

‘I told you where she is. She’s on my back.’ Aaaargh began to jump up and down in a most unsightly manner.

‘Show me,’ the eagle demanded.

Pepe noticed Ambrosia crawl out from under one of Aaaargh’s silver-white feathers.

‘Hello,’ said the ladybird. ‘My name is Ambrosia Honeybun Polka Dot.’ She lifted her bonnets and wiggle-flew over to the eagle’s beak, landing quite carefully right on the end of the hook.

The white-bellied Sea Eagle crossed her great golden eyes slightly as she stared at the tiny beetle. ‘Hello,’ she replied. ‘It is nice to meet someone with good manners. I’m Leucogaster. Your companions are very noisy.’

‘I beg your pardon,’ said Pepe. He was beginning to feel quite cross. ‘I’m Pepe, and I’ve been very polite.’ He glared at Aaaargh. ‘It’s this not-very-nice gull that’s been making all the noise.’

‘I have too,’ said Aaaargh. ‘And, as I said, it’s because there’s weather coming in, and you’re standing around telling me everything’s fine, and everyone’s fine, and they aren’t fine, and we’re not fine, and we have to catch the next stiff breeze if we’re going to be on our way, so why you decided here would be a good place to stop is beyond me, Pepe, because we need to get Ambrosia further north before she falls asleep. You know what happens if she falls asleep, right?’

‘What happens when you fall asleep,’ the sea eagle asked the tiny ladybird sitting on the end of her nose.

‘When I fall asleep in the winter time I go into hibernation,’ the ladybird replied. ‘And when I wake up the world is like new again, which is wonderful, but,’ and Ambrosia wiggle-flew back to Aargh and landed on his head. ‘I forget everyone I’ve ever met, and I just don’t want to do that. Not yet. I’m not ready to forget things.’

‘Sometimes it’s good to forget things,’ the eagle replied quietly. ‘I try to forget all the eggs that didn’t make it, and I try to forget all the people who keep trying to remove my nest from the top of that big aerial back there.’ She glanced back at the hill. ‘And I just try to get on with living my life without being harassed all the time by people who don’t know what they’re doing.’

‘I understand that,’ Ambrosia Honeybun Polka Dot said from Aaaargh’s silvered temple. ‘But I have children, little people, to get back to, and gardens to visit, and aphids to eat, and I just ate my last one. Winter is upon us, and I’m just not far enough north to stay awake yet. I can’t go to sleep. Not yet.’

‘Then why did you stop,’ the sea eagle asked.

‘Aaaargh can’t keep flying, no matter how good a pilot he thinks he is,’ Pepe replied, wincing as Aaaargh pecked him on the shoulder. ‘He needs to rest.’

‘Then I will make sure we get you to where you need to go,’ said the Sea Eagle. ‘I have family, other Sea Eagles, all the way up this coast so we will be able to get you to a warm place, Ambrosia. I promise.’ She would have smiled, but she had a beak not a mouth, so smiling was not possible.

‘Thank you,’ said Ambrosia Honeybun Polka Dot, adventurer extraordinaire. ‘That is all I’ve ever asked for. When it does become springtime, I will try to make it all the way back to my favourite little person, and perhaps I will be able to bring children of my own.’

‘Oh good, I’m glad we’ve got that sorted out,’ said Aargh. ‘Now, where’s the nearest pub? I feel like some hot chips.’

The eagle huffed and fluffed up her feathers. 

‘Typical seagull,’ she said, but it was not unkindly. She turned to look at Pepe once more, her golden eyes narrowing. ‘What kind of bird are you, exactly,’ she asked. ‘I’ve never seen anything like you before.’

‘I don’t really know,’ Pepe replied. ‘I know my mum was a Silver Gull, but I don’t know who my dad was. I’m bigger than normal seagulls, but smaller than the Albatross and bigger than a Pacific Gull. I just can’t figure it out.’

‘Then you must be a very special bird indeed,’ said the eagle as she rose gracefully from the driftwood branch. ‘Come on then. Let’s go.’

Pepe blinked. It was possibly the nicest thing any avian had ever said to him. 

Whether you wear black shorts or sunglasses, have Supernatural tendencies, or like to run around yelling out code words with your cousins while you’re playing a game of pool, whether you like dressing up in skintight red suits, have hands with long scissors, or think you might be Out of Time, there is always a Sea Eagle, and always a Ladybird, and always a few raucous seagulls. You can find these birds in the strangest locations sometimes, and often where they aren’t meant to be.

That is the magic of storytelling.

C.S. Capewell aka Kate Capewell.

P.S. When we got our very first home loan several years ago, we were helped by a wonderful group of individuals from a number of different teams and businesses who helped us realise our dream. I will never be able to thank them enough. I still owe someone some chocolate, and I have never forgotten.

Kate x

For the original story of Ambrosia Honeybun Polka Dot, head over to the wonderful team at https://wildeyedpress.com.au

If you need insurance there is also a wonderful group you can get hold of, but they are pretty good at doing their own advertising. There are also a couple of wonderful banks, health insurers, and TV stations in WA and in the Eastern States you might want to watch if you ever come to Australia. There are decent people in the world, you just need to know what to look out for.