In the list of unpleasant things ones can experience, but not top of the list by any means, is a difficult neighbour. In my case, this is a person who makes unfair or unreasonable demands, who minds your business in an intrusive manner, can be quite rude and dismissive, and who sends you to Coventry for things they have done themselves.

Doubtless there is a possibility of some mental illness or cognitive impairment (though we all have these to a greater of lesser extent) and this should make one compassionate. As a Christian I know only too well from Scripture that it is easy to love a neighbour who is kind and likeable, but difficult to do the same for someone who is, well, sometimes unpleasant. But I must try. It isn't an option.

'To love your neighbour as you love yourself' is a command.

 Hazelbrook, while it is busier and noisier than once it was, still maintains many of the comforting rhythms of a semi-urban town that make it a desirable place to live. Mowers hum, hammers thump, dogs bark while acres and acres of trees sway and bustle with birds. Trains depart hourly for the city ('pent cloisters dim') and folks must head into the distance if they want more than the local shops can provide. There are joggers, but mostly walkers and the night is very dark and still.

But I confess, it has changed in some key ways over thirty years, with sirens an everyday feature on the highway, a greater volume of traffic and a changing population. There are more 'city-folk' ( I was once one of those) who are seeking a cheaper buy and a different lifestyle. Sydney is a relentless place. Nice to visit but...

So living here you might look outside and in the near vicinity and think you are in a bit of a bucolic paradise. But turn on the radio, TV or any news media site, and the mood is decidedly gloomy. Wars, rumours of wars, awful murders, dreadful behaviours, incomprehensible human conduct - one could go on. The case for turning it all off forever is strong indeed, if the discipline is there, if the temptation is avoided. An old university friend whom I lost contact with over ten years ago once said, in response to my shying away from terrible news,

'David, I watch the news because if I am going to be killed by something I want to know all about it.'

I used to agree but now I am not so sure. I have my faith, which is an extraordinary bolster to negative news. It doesn't mean I don't worry or get anxious - I do - but I also have a powerful refuge.

I have always been fond of Shakespeare's plays and sonnets. It goes back to Year 10 (then Fourth Form), when my English class studied Macbeth. Being brim full of witches, murder and revenge, it is a good play for adolescents to study as an entry point to the Bard. We read King Lear and Hamlet in senior years and then at university, another swag of his works. Later on I taught them myself, a challenge, I can assure you.

The following sign was allegedly posted on an academic's door, presumably one teaching in the humanities. If you know Hamlet, then it is quite witty. But if you don't, then it will pass you by without a titter. I wonder if folks will have a laugh at such references in 50 years time, or will this kind of humour become the preserve of a tiny minority.

Though I swoop, yet I love,

For you below, me above,

I am a guardian of the young,

Do not expect a sparrow,

Or a dove,

Or any lesser bird than I,

I am behind you now,

Or can't you see,

My instincts are

your enemy.

The magpies are in full diving mode now. Both of my regular routes to the local shops have at least one bird on guard duty. And both birds are in a swooping mood.

Of course, one is inclined to be cross with them. I turn, frown, sometimes shake my fist. Other times I engage in a lively contre temps, though these magpies are remarkably quiet. They have no time to warble.

I often wonder that they don't chat to the local birds in my garden to find out what a nice chap I am. I am not sure, however, that they are on speaking terms!

On Thursday night a small group from our choir, a Mini-Moo, if you like, performed a one song at the Good Earth Bookshop in Wentworth Falls. We were taking part in a 'music expo' for adult learners, essentially, a taster for anyone interested in participating in music events and groups of one sort or another, with the possible view to taking up a new activity.

The bookshop, nestled in an arcade in the middle of the main street, is a cosy venue for such an event. An audience of maybe 30 people would fit with little trouble. I think it's great to have such venues and occasions in our midst, building on the skills of the local community and encouraging wider participation.

Still, it's unusual to turn up for a single song, but it was only a sampler. I am having a think about joining a recorder group, particularly as this opens up some sweet medieval tunes. 

Today, the first swoop of the Magpie Season! It wasn't a full-feathered, beak-snapping swoop - rather, a kind of flyby, more of a warning than anything else, a 'keep-out' notice, if you like. I happened to have an umbrella with me, the day being unsettled, and I raised it in protest at the bird's impudence.

Of course, the poor magpie is only doing what nature has instructed it - protect the newly born in the nearby nest - so I shouldn't quibble with such a noble parental instinct. No magpie that I know of has smoked weed, gotten drunk, shot through or otherwise acted against the interests of the hatchling. That dubious honour is reserved for another species.

So well-done, you vicious bird, on doing your duty!

 Last night Ann nudged me awake at about 4.45. She wanted to look at the total eclipse of the moon, which I think was scheduled to begin at 4am. Alas we were a little late for totality. A small sliver of the moon was passing out of the Earths shadow, though the overall effect was still mighty impressive.

Total eclipses are quite rare, though Australia gets another go in March of next year. I was asked why there aren't eclipses every month as the moon passes behind the Earth relative to the Sun. Just because I host an astronomy program doesn't mean I can answer such questions, but this one I could.

It is a good question, but one that you can probably guess at. If the Moon's orbital plane was identical to the Earth's orbital plane around the Sun, then we would likely get those monthly total eclipses. But the Moon's plane is tilted by about 5 degrees relative to the Earths, so during a full Moon (another condition), our faithful satellite passes above or below the Earth's shadow, rather than through it. An eclipse only occurs when the Sun, Earth and Moon are perfectly aligned. Which is fairly rare.

I wrote a poem about a previous totality some years ago, called 'Totality'. I reprint it here for your scathing critiques.

Totality

Coatless I gaze

In sullen cold,

A lingering Scorpion

Above my head, a

Wide moon in the fold,

And the every-angled heavens,

Ablaze.

A night to be bold, sure,

Though few could tell,

How solid ground conspired,

To throw terrestrial shade –

The inching darkness,

First a fingernail,

Then a thumbprint

Made,

The ancient glimmering dust,

A reddening pale,

That hangs and floats and howls

To be itself again –

A catcher of dreams

And ark of night.

 

Beyond the trail

Of stars and dust,

The shrouding rust

Declines and fades,

Leaving the porcelain face

Unchanged,

Small mercies, perhaps,

Thinking of how things must go,

Thought a billion years of light

Remains.

When I taught in Japan, questions about the weather were par for the course. It's a natural bridge into more complex topics and the Japanese love talking about it anyway, because the seasons (and their weather patterns) inform their culture at a deep level.

Every March or April, as we headed into yet another Japanese spring, the weather chat would take a slight segue, because the temperatures tended to move around quite a lot. The idiom, 'three days cool, four days warm' would crop up unbidden time and again, it being one of those things that every Japanese would have heard as a kid. And yes, there was often a few days of cool weather followed by a slightly longer period of warm weather, so anecdotally, there was some truth to the saying. But I'm not a weatherman.

Songs titles and lyrics invariably reference the months and seasons as emblems of something else. Of course, most of these songs follow Northern Hemisphere seasons, so 'November Rain' has a different connotation down on the bottom of the world, these being the beginning of winter and summer respectively. But it doesn't always follow that the wet and cold is a time of misery, nor that the summer is unbridled joy.

I have written quite a few poems about autumn (spring in the north) and, try as I might, find it hard to escape from the 'season of decrease' narrative. It seems to work well with the way I think. I don't do joy very well.

Pianist 

(for Annie)

I imagine I'm not there,

But sitting by a radio,

Waiting as the audience -

All murmur and shuffle,

Impatient for the next-

Endlessly demurs.

While you, unobserved,

Mount an adjacent stair,

Settle finally on the stool,

And blithely begin

A different story,

And every eye, and every ear,

Is taken in by

This moment redefined,

That stops the prattle,

And unstops the mind -

You, unassuming 

In punkish attire,

Play into the keys, 

Innocent, unaware, 

Of the bright fire 

Blooming.

You often hear people say, 'I couldn't live without my.....'. You can insert whatever piece of handy technology you like into the gap, but it principally revolves around smart phones, the internet and the digital life.

I am here to disagree. If I cast my mind back to 1977, my first year at university, what did I lack then that I have(or could have) today. There was no internet, so no World Wide Web, no Google, no social media, nor any web based service of any kind. You can make a very long list, but it includes emailing, video chats, music and entertainment providers etc.

The Sony Walkman (cassette) has yet to appear, so most of us are anchored to household stereo units or car based systems. Phone calls are made from land lines at home or public telephones when out and about. Because there are no streamed news or information services, we are stuck with news bulletins on TV (4 stations in NSW), radio broadcasts or actual newspapers.

It is a different life, but not so different to my generation that it doesn't sound awfully familiar. Would I mind walking up to buy a paper every day? How about going to the local library to borrow a book or research a topic? Would it be a problem for me to hunt down a working payphone to call home? How hard is it to play and album on a record player and flip it over half way? 

I could go on. There would be an adjustment, of course. There would be some inconvenience, yes. But the upside would be kids not glued to their phones, news that was far more localised, shopping that meant going somewhere where people are employed, walking into a well-stocked newsagent, time spent mulling over all manner of things. Lots more thinking.

I don't have a hankering for it, but I would have no problem getting used to it again. We all might have to one day soon.