Quarter watermelon. Hi.

As I left the house a man yelled.

“Zoe!” he shouted. At his dog.

She was a lovely kelpie who was yo-yoing along behind him on a long lead. Zoe was keen to stop and sniff everything and by everything I mean everything.

The man (blue sweatshirt, dark grey track pants, black sneakers) was not pleased about all the sniffing.

They slowly made their way along the path, about 20 metres ahead of me. The man kept looking over his shoulder at me. I think he was embarrassed that his dog was so curious but I am sure curiosity is always a very good thing.

Bins lined the street, a colourful and kind of stinky parade.

Green. Green. Blue. Green. Green. Blue.

Above my head the traffic chopper clattered, waking up the entire neighbourhood with its supersonic bleat.

Two men cycled pass also yelling (at each other). Wondering whether the next turn was the right turn or the one before was the one that they wanted. (It was surely the next one, because that is the way to the coffee and pastry shop!)

To be honest I felt like a coffee too, but a helpful breeze carrying the sweet scent of jasmine and blossom was tugging me more awake.

The magnolia trees were out in force, their pink and white castanet flowers the very embodiment of hope and beauty and better days.

I was at the edge of the park now.

A man (black puff and grey track pants) and his son (blue sweatshirt and grey track pants) were climbing out of an SUV juggling coffees and white paper bags (pastries?)

They waded out into the grass and I figured they were making for the rotunda which is certainly a lovely spot to have a speedy breakfast. Good dad-ing.

A man in black trousers, a pale blue long sleeved shirt and a navy tie strode through the middle of the paddock. A TIE. Whut? No briefcase, but possibly a badge too.

A woman stood at the edge of the park and called “Mary! Mary!”

Mary came dawdling from the side street, across the road and onto the grass. Then they walked off together. (Mary was an old black dog.)

In the treetops ravens croaked spookily at rosellas, who twittered cheerily back, unbothered and hopeful too.

Then onto the between-houses park. It had been mowed since I was last here. There was circle tracks around the trees and everything looked mossy and neat and manicured.

A magpie alighted on the grass next to me. I made the clicking sound that I usually make to stop them from swooping or pecking me. 

“Hello, little one,” I said and he cocked his head, bright eye shining, deciding not to attack.

Another magpie warbled in a tree nearby.

“Quarter watermelon,” I said softly, remembering something I’d seen on Twitter about talking to magpies.

“Quarter watermelon,” I repeat quietly.

It made a gentle croaky sound so I did it again.

“Quarter watermelon” and it croak-cooed again.

 I thought you should know that I'm a bird whisperer now.

Next I saw a lady who had noticed me taking photos of the roses across the road.

“Hello!” she said and smiled.

“Hi!” I said

After that I went home.