…still looking for that elusive word, which has evaded me for days. This morning I took a walk through a Banksia forest, the low tree-tops were filled with almost a hundred black cockatoos, all crying out in an urgent tone that could easily be used in the speakers of an ambulance. The two magpies, who had until this morning thought they were the Banksia Kings, kept swooping into the gnarled branches, shooting their slick bodies up into the sky before dropping and falling into a mercilessness dive once more. But, the cockatoos only shook their white tufted tail-feathers at them in reply. I thought the word might be somewhere in there, somewhere among the arsonists char, the sharply serrated gray-green leaves, or the ancient swamp sand that has no tears, but still remembers a time when the basin was full. I thought the word might be inside a spinning top-shaped seed pod, on the tip of an orange firework-like bristle or on the back of the large hover-wasp blocking the path…. still looking…. a terrified cat shoots out of the forest, back to domestic life. as do I.