The softness that comes with too much of a good thing

Last night I woke to the sound of dingo’s howling. The sound is very melancholy. Like a child suffering terribly.

We knew there were dingos because one got into our rubbish bin early in the night and feasted on the remains of Brillat Savarin cheese and salted caramel popcorn – the remains of a delayed celebration that required a fresh baguette to truly enjoy. (We camp out in style while being off grid.)

This morning we met our resident dingo. Apparently this one is the howler. He stays about 10 feet from the ranger in our National Park, and has done for 10 years. But he will not let you any closer, even the ranger who he has known for those ten years.

Native to Australia, dingos are largely harmless. Like any native creature, or human, they have occasion to go rouge, so respect for them in their territory is a must. 

This morning we woke well before dawn and trekked to the top of a lighthouse, managing to capture the most brilliant sunrise and a rainbow before the rain.

I write this to the sounds of lorikeets, feasting on the native bush flowers in bloom.

To keep me from falling too deeply into bliss of my surroundings, the occasional mosquito reminds me that nature is not always perfect. At least, not the perfect way I would want it. Yet the mosquito is the requisite polarity to everything, keeping me vigilant and ready. Without its buzz I would fall into the softness that comes with too much of a good thing.

* delayed due to no internet reception, expect the same tomorrow 🙂

Photo taken May 5th 2022