At The Foot Of The Incline Lay The Yellow Hole,
Gleaming And Glancing In The Sunshine; All Around And About
Us were the
bush creatures, rustling in the scrub and grasses - flies were conspicuous
by their absence, here and there
Shafts of sunlight lay across the
gray-brown shade; in the distance the grazing cattle moved among the
timber; away out in the glorious sunshine, beyond and above the tree-tops,
brown-winged, slender Bromli kites wheeled and circled and hovered and
swooped; and lounging in the sun-flecked shade, well satisfied with our
lot, we looked out into the blue, sunny depths, each one of us the
embodiment of lazy contentment, and agreeing with Dan that "Sunday wasn't
a bad institution for them as had no objection to doing a loaf now and
then."
That suggesting an appropriate topic of conversation to Dan, for a little
while we spoke of the Sabbath-keeping of our Scottish forefathers; as we
spoke, idly watching the circling, wheeling Bromli kites, that seemed
then as at all times, an essential part of the sunshine. To the
bush-folk of the Never-Never, sunshine without Bromli kites would be as a
summer's day without the sun. All day and every day they hover throughout
it, as they search and wait and watch for carrion, throwing dim, gliding
shadows as they wheel and circle, or flashing sunshine from brown wings
by quick, sudden swoops, hovering and swooping throughout the sunshine,
or rising to melt into blue depths of the heavens, where other arching,
floating specks tell of myriads there, ready to swoop, and fall and gather
and feast wherever their lowest ranks drop earthwards with the crows.
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