There's a morepork on my street. He lives in a big Norfolk pine up near
the top of the hill, the other end of the street to me. He stands guard up
there, when I walk past in the evenings he always sends me off with a hoot.
Then when I come back later on in the night he’s still up, standing guard and
telling me that he’s still there. Watching me come and go.
His tree is a big one, some of the trees on my street are bigger than
the houses, which is saying a lot. His pine must have been there a long time,
it would’ve come along with some of the first houses here. Now newer buildings
surround it, even a tower of apartments. It still stands proudly near the top
of the hill, marking its place in this old suburb in a relatively young city. And
it holds in it the little owl with the loud voice. There’s morepork on my
street.
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