Miraculous

The magpies came down in numbers this morning, as they do most days, into our backyard for a feed. They warble, and fly down from the neighbour's roof and the tree on the other side, when they see me come outside, arms outstretched in a welcoming gesture. I think it doubles as an imitation of flight, who knows what the magpies think. A joyous song of thanks from multiple throats and beaks. The young'uns, this past spring's babies, squawk and plead to their parents, waiting their turn, letting the mature birds eat first.  These young are noticeable by sight because their feathers are not so shiny, especially their chest which looks a bit motley or downy. Some are fed in turn by parent's beaks. The squawks diminish to a satisfied gobble, while sometimes an adventurous one will take a chance and feed itself, risking a charge and pecking.

A few months ago, there were no young. The adults would come and hungrily fill their beaks with as much food as would fit, and off they'd fly, presumably to feed babies in nests in the trees, or their mate sitting on eggs. Some time before that, there was no taking food away, presumably before breeding had begun.

When I look at the young magpies, fully grown and able to fly, it amazes me that but a few months ago they were still in an egg, just a couple of centimetres or so long. An egg, high in a tree, supported in a stick nest, through all the late winter early spring gales we had. Miraculous.

I collected seed from the rough barked manna gums, which grow along the river with the red gums and blue gums (leucoxylon - called yellow gum in Vic). I sat the seed pods on white paper in the office for a couple of weeks and they opened up, spilling their seed out like orange sand. I sprinkled the seed into pots and now little eucies are growing, hopefully  to be planted next winter as seedlings along the river reserve where acacia weeds have been removed, part of a restorative project by the Friend's Group. These seeds, tiny as grains of sand, have the potential to grow into very large trees with little assistance other than natural rainfall and sunshine. It amazes me. Miraculous.

As for sunshine, nothing is possible without it. I'm told the sun is 92 million miles away, and is a huge ball of exploding gas that has been doing its thing for billions of years, the provider of energy and life. Trees and plants capture the energy of the sun and this in turn gives us food. Miraculous.

As you read this, consider that by means of an alphabet I learned when young, I can string together letters to make words in a coherent form that records my thoughts, so that you can know my thoughts (hopefully), wherever you are. Somewhere along the way 26  letters were invented which gives us the English language. Not only does this enable me to write, but speak also. We communicate everyday with multiple people in speech which conveys our thoughts, instantaneously for the most part, the sentences or sequences of letters and words just flow. My mate Ralphie sent me a book on Muhammad Ali. It's about 20 cm long and 12 wide, less than 25 mm thick. It contains thousands of words strung together to tell of a man's life, with cultural, political, racial and religious issues in historical context, in a profound account that gives insight into American society. And the English language is one of hundreds, maybe thousands around the world, many using different alphabets or systems. Amazing. Miraculous. 

Of course we read and see the natural world through our window to the world. Our eyes. An intricate miracle in themselves. And behind them our brain, which interprets everything our eyes see. The brake lights on the car front alert us so we don't crash our vehicle into it, for example. 

None of what written here is news to anybody. I have hardly scratched the surface of my amazement. Everyday we are surrounded by miracles. From the depths of the ocean to the mountaintops and into the clouds and space. Mystery and miracle. Miraculous.