Midjaliny (Noongar for rain, tears or weeping)

It’s raining as the moon drifts in and out of the clouds surrounding it in the early morning sky. The sound on my roof is comforting, familiar in ways that I could not have imagined before moving back to my birth place. I am in my country – Whadjuk-Noongar country. As I sit writing here in the dark listening to the rain, I hear rhythm in the fluid constancy of the falling rain. When I step outside to feel the rain on my skin I see the nearly full moon coming in and out of focus, never more feminine than this I think - elusive, beautiful, secretive, intimate. Rain creates an intimacy I have always loved from childhood, tucked in a warm bed it is one of life’s pleasures. I like the cool air coming through the windows and doors that I leave ajar, to allow this elemental  flow. A candle burning beside me, darkness enveloping and cracks of light entering the house. Birds begin to sound adding to the great pleasure of being alive and awake at this early hour. I sense adventure in waking early as though the potential of the day beckons, inviting me to taste, smell, listen and touch the world. Ahh a kookaburra in the distance. I feel so fortunate to have a patch of bush just there outside my door. I am living in what my neighbour calls the ghetto! I love this, the not wealthy part of this suburb that is bounded by ocean and river. The wealthy live beside the river in mansions I do not envy – Australian aspirational ugliness abounds. My local walks take me on the back streets past all kinds of treasures – narrow laneways, gorgeous gardens and intriguing hidden houses of imaginative flair, both old and new. It is all oddly familiar, school friends lived here when I lived nearby as a girl. I rarely came here – I would go the most direct way to the river through the wealthier adjacent suburb. This suburb was working-class, with factories and workers cottages and lots of small corner parks. These are now cared for and delightful to find and rest in on my walks. But the landmark I did go to was the Memorial Hall – an Art Deco façade over a late C19 building with all the attributes of the era – beautiful jarrah wooden floors and large spaces. What was the cinema in my youth is now a theatre and the cinema is outdoor summer viewing only. Daylight has arrived but the skies are still weeping – a day for internal reflection, dreaming and soup making. How to keep the angels happy and the wolf of reality fed – soup! This is the season of Djeran in the six Noongar Seasons, and also the season of Adulthood.