Early in the morning we walked over to Infinity Bakery, a little, brown, shadowy place on Victoria Street, strictly business, no tables, a counter with a tiny waiting space in front of it, and, when you looked to your right, apparently endless metal shelves of baked goods receding into the back. Two custard danish, one cherry, one pear, and a butter croissant.

We stopped at a stand on Darlinghurst Road for coffee, and as the husky Asian fellow prepared it, Michael asked, “You’re not open before sunrise? You don’t want to be part of the scene?”

The guy laughed. “No. Those folks aren’t interested in coffee, and, frankly, I don’t think they need it.”

***

This time, instead of walking around the Domain, I cut through it. Sun on broad squares of grass, and occasional green silky bulges that were more like mild swellings than hills, trees with unbelievably thick trunks, heavy branches and black, undappled shade, occasional sculptures — a cage-like gazebo, a tilting, white cairn of stones erected recently by aboriginal artists. I stopped to look at some glass glyphs, etched with poetry.

Trees were in their thoughts, Peppermint Gum, Black Sally,
White tea tree hung over trees…

An obese, drunken-looking bottle tree half-stood, half-sprawled inside a fence as though the park service was afraid it would get confused and wander off.

A bird that looked like a black and white crow walked with great dignity in the grass nearby. It paused, and a weird, electronic, warbling music seemed to come from its throat.

One tall tree on the edge of the park had a flock of cockatoos gathered around its top, enjoying the sunlight. The top cockatoo kept calling to another one high up in another tree on the other side of the park. They exchanged loud, slightly derisive sounding squawks, and then most of the cockatoos in the first tree took wing, flew in a beautifully synchronized formation, wheeling gracefully into the other tree. They tried it out, then called out to the other tree, with its top cockatoo and a few remaining loyalists. The top cockatoo in the first tree squawked a few more times, and the birds in the second tree took wing again and returned to the first tree. The cockatoo at the second tree squawked a few more times, they took wing again…

It reminded me of a chant that used to be taken up at parties on different sides of the dance floor when I was in college.

“Party over HERE!”

“No, party over HERE!”

“Ain’t nuthin’ over THERE!”

“Ain’t nuthin’ over THERE!“

“No, party over HERE!
Party over HERE!
Ain’t NUTHIN’ over THERE!”

“No, party over HERE!
Party over HERE!
Ain’t NUTHIN’ ….”

***

Near the edge of the green is a building graveyard, a plot of land studded with pieces from long-gone buildings. The top of a Corinthian column, decorative carvings of flowers, dedications… A nice place for a reverie on the ephemera we take for permanence, especially since it overlooks the city.

“YWCA 1924”

“This building was opened by her excellency Lady Stoneham, 5, May, 1926, M. Forster President.”

“This stone was placed by her excellency Lady Forster 18, June 1925.”