By John Blanchette

It was 6:00 a.m. June 1, the first day of winter. The evening rain that had moved in off the ocean had ceased and the sun had dawned. I was sleeping in the rain forest near Byron Bay when a choir rose to meet the day and the new season.

The plaintiff song of the Butcherbirds, the squawking of the red-bellied Rosella Parrots and cockatoos in the shedding gum trees, the childlike crying of the Green Catbird, cackling of the Bush Turkeys, melodious tunes of black ...

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