The Wren

So there we were. Sitting in a mini-moke driving through the mid-day heat of tropical north Queensland; Rockhampton and the Mount Etna caves still over an hour's drive away. The air was thick, so humid that I could feel the droplets of water hitting the back of my throat as I breathed. The heat was like a blanket wrapped around every part of me, the wind coming in through the open side panels almost solid.

WHAM!

An explosion of feathers showered us, the swirling wind pushing them into our eyes, our mouths, sticking them to our skin where the sweat flowed from our chests.

"What the fuck was that?"

I touched the brakes and began to work back down through the gears. There was the crunching of the gravel under the wheels as the car leaves the tarmacked highway for the verge. Slow to stop.

We twisted around in our seats, straining to see what the hell hit us.

"It sounded big," said Johno, "What do you think it was?"

"Dunno, I can't see anything. That's fuckin' weird."

I clambered out of the car, and started unclipping the roof from the windscreen, folding it back as soon as the last clip was free. Johno was already in the back; lifting our sleeping bags and duffles out of the way, sitting the stereo on the edge of the car, putting the cassettes on the front seat. I lifted the esky full of our food and drinks out and saw the cause of that loud percussive thud. The erstwhile owner of the feathers still decorating my face and hair.

A small blue wren, still as still, head cocked at an odd angle, the sun shining on its black wing turned into a glorious azure blue sheen.

"A wren," I said, and held my hand out towards Johno.

"Poor little bugger," he says, "Fuck, that must have hurt."

"At that speed? Nah. We must've been doing around a hundred going by the tacho, and if this little fella was flying towards us...must have been instantaneous."

There wasn't a word spoken about it, but for some reason, we both decided that as we were somewhat responsible for this bird's untimely demise, we ought at least move it into the trees away from the roadside. Neither of us really wanted to imagine other animals pecking at it by the roadside, perhaps coming unstuck beneath the wheels of some other car.

The air was just as thick and hot under the shade of the eucalyptus that lined the road, only with the added bonus of the burn of eucalyptus oil going into our noses mouths and lungs. Other sensations too - the crackling and crunching of leaves underfoot, the feel of small stones and twigs pressing the soles of my feet, and a fluttering twitch in the palm of my hand.

"Fucking hell. Its still alive!"

"Fuck off. No way it could be alive after that."

"Well have a look yourself!"

Sure enough, as I gently opened my fingers, it was alive. Small eyes blinking, feet twitching and wings flickering.

We stood, foreheads touching, leaning our faces in close in stunned amazement, watching every breath it took, every movement it made. Then it shook itself, settling all its feathers back into place, the azure shimmer gone now in the shade, but the bright blue crest on its head shook as it seemed to shrug off the impact with the back window of our car.

Then it was off in a mad whirring clatter of wings beating air, the two of us flinging ourselves backwards in surprise at the suddenness of its movement.

We sat there, under the trees, the insistent clicking of insects in the bushes, the sound of rushing air being pushed out of the way of passing cars on the highway, the air still wrapping itself around us and watched the last space in the air where we saw the wren. Stunned. Amazed. Feeling oddly moved and privileged to have watched this small creature cheat death.

"Well, what do reckon? Think we'll make the caves before sunset?"

"Yeah, I don't think we're that far. Want me to drive?"

"Sure, I reckon I could do with the break. Besides, I'm getting a little sick of Peter Tosh. I mean, it's good, but fuck, that's been the last three hours mate."

"Hah! You just have no taste!"