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Invasive Species

Yuri and the Night Visitors

Invasive Species

The Mighty Firbank (and Myself)
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Yuri Hospodar

Yuri and the Night Visitors

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Snoopydance
Spring slowly seeps into Sydney! The last few days have been warm and sunny - though we're due for some cooler swingdown this weekend, dammit - and last night was warm enough to keep the windows open for quite a bit. Best of all, that most summery of sweet night air was curling gently around, pulling me out and into the yard to stand in its swirl unchilled and serene, and then clumping down in a quiet heap on the grass to look at the moon through the hissing branches of our two big eucalypts. That was when I saw ... it.

Or them. Or ... whatever. As I watched the branches coil and wave, I noticed the moonlight as it bounced off the small leaves of the huge rivergum. Perhaps it was just the right angle of the light, the moon obscured just right by the web of branches; perhaps the arrival of better heat and Spring has the trees ahhhing to life and pumping out oil into their leaves, making them a bit more sheenyshiny, but in my years (now) of looking up star-and-moongazing into the Aussie night from my dacha yard, I never saw what I saw last night.

The moonlight was speckling off the leaves, blipping in and out of my vision like nothing more than the fields full of lightning bugs that shimmered in my childhood summer yard (before they vanished utterly due to encroaching development, the evergrowing nearby garbage dump heaping up the horizon like a new volcano that peeks smokily above sea level, and who-knows-what effect from the nuclear power plant flashing and steaming on the other side of the horizon from the dump). Lightning bugs, fireflies, fairy lights from Christmas maybe, high up in the branches glittering silently, cascading through the branches. Night insects timidly surfaced nearby, chirping tentative is-it-really-Spring songs. The earlybird mosquitos saw me in my awe and left me alone.

In the still night (so quiet especially knowing the main street of Balmain was buzzing unheard just a short walk away!) it was like getting morse code in silent light from Mother Night - Hecatean semaphore - little pinpricks from Artemis nudging my brain back to life, reminding me how I'd peer through the willow leaves in my old peeA yard at the same moon, different stars to be sure, but the night sky full of the same spirits nonetheless - promising to soak them with poems and devote myself to describing them and these sensations so much more real and peaceful than anything else matched only maybe now when I dip into the Coral Sea (the same soft feeling of communication with Something SkySeaEarthyBigAndLoving). Here I am, decades later, getting a reconnect & cosmic callback on the other side of the earth from the patient night spirits who've waited waited waited for me to wake up again.

And up in these new trees, willow-inheritors, new frames for old visions, danced a bamillion little bits of night goddess, ghosting me into a tingly half-asleep, half jangly-freshawake feeling. Advance guard for some real creativity? Ethereal engagement? Intellectual coherence & foreward motion?

Bring on summer, I say. I'll be sprawled in the night grass, eyes a-eucalypt'd, awaiting further messages and glittery shimmerdoses of Nyx-fumed nightmorphines.
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