When I Woke Up This Morning

I woke at 6.00 am, becoming aware my hand was on my penis. A male thing, I guess. It was reassuringly warm and plumpish. That first ever 'limp experience' recently was nothing to worry about, surely. I thought of September 35 years ago, at Puckapunyal, in the first weeks of national service training, where at 0530 some oafish buffoon NCO would come stomping through the hut, polished boots cracking on polished linoleum, yelling "PARADE 8, PARADE 8, HANDS OFF THE COCKS AND ON WITH THE SOCKS." It was freezing most mornings, the night seeming to have disappeared in two seconds. A wattlebird annoyed one recruit, waking him every morning with raucous 'chokking' outside his window, well before reveille. A flowering callistomen drew the bird to that spot each dawn.
I could hear the dogs playing on the lawn. Old 'Snowie' and young 'Pippa' get on well now and start early, romping around on the back lawn behind our bedroom window. It was the play growl I could hear, they running up and down competing to bite each other on the neck. Through this noise Mr. and Mrs. Whippy called to each other. Yes, our eastern whipbirds are back, not seen yet this season but heard daily, loud and clear. It's a wonderful sound on a Sunday morning, when you don't have to get up immediately. I lay snug and warm listening to the whipbirds, the wattlebirds, bellbirds, currawongs, magpies, blackbirds, and others I could not distinguish that made up the full concert.
On my walk I saw Harry talking to another man near the top of the hill on the main road. I hadn't seen him for a couple of weeks, and being Sunday I knew he was on his way back from the cemetery, where he visits his son's grave. His son died in a truck accident some 20 years ago. As he broke from talking to the other man and started walking towards me I could tell all wasn't well with him as his gait was slow and restricted.
He greeted me warmly, and I asked him how did the funeral go. Last time we spoke he told me a friend's wife had died of leukemia. He said it was sad, and added that he went to another funeral last week, that of Lettie from Station Rd. He said that was Heinz he was talking to just now, Lettie's husband. The first funeral was for a wife of one of Harry's 'Club 52', which is the group that has met regularly over 55 years, having migrated to Australia by ship in 1952. Of the 30 or so men originally in the club, seventeen have died, 3 are widowers, and there are 8 widows who attend. "There are a lot of funerals these days", he said.
Lettie and Heinz were not members of Club 52 but Harry knew them well. Lettie had bone cancer for 13 years and was the Peter McCallum clinic's longest serving patient. She regularly had chemo to keep the cancer under control but the treatment caused a blood clot in her stomach and despite an operation, she died.
A cold breeze was blowing, Harry said he'd better keep moving, he had a crook back, which explained his stilted walking. As we parted I said how good it was lying in this morning listening to the birds. Harry said he listened to them too and he loves to hear them when he wakes.