My home. My land. My space. My life.

The kookaburras rouse us from our sleep with their staccato laugh and zest for the day. It is not possible to wake up unhappy here.

The magpies greet us as we venture out onto the verandah with our coffee. They show off the newest additions to their family, while we thank them for their serenades and their daily decision not to swoop us.

We watch as the rosellas flit nervously between the trees and the rosemary, trying to find the best place to indulge in their flowery offerings. Their sweet voices float on the air as they share the latest gossip.

The lorikeets, less bashful than their larger cousins, chat excitedly—every movement made at lightning speed lest they run out of daylight hours to achieve all they must.

The galahs arrive. They mate for life and these two are like an old married couple. Locked in step, the other simply an extension of themselves. Their curiosity and mischievous nature brings them close, but not too close. They remain mindful of their surrounds.

The noisy miner lives up to its name but hangs back at the periphery, perhaps embarrassed by its dull house clothes against the colourful threads of their fellow citizens. You belong here too, I think, sad that it deems itself not worthy.

We drain the last dregs from our cups and head back inside to get on with our day.

Their home. Their land. Their space. Their life.