Can't sleep.  Up at sparrow's fluff, timed it for a second hot flash so I could race to the loo and then into the bathroom before the sweat had dried.  Heater on, bathmat against the door, where Natalia tries to pull it through, while washing and getting dressed.  Then back into the cold where three expectant cat faces, one, Natalia mewing piteously, while I get their breakfast.  Natalia in the laundry room with her CD, Matisse on the fridge and Nairobi on the floor with their Science Optimal.  Coffee made, bird dishes set out and woodburner fueled and flickering. 

Sky turning grey.  There's a cow lowing to the north but not even the kookaburras have called yet.  The willie wagtails sing through the night but the kookaburra is Australia's version of the cockcrow.  We have several living around here.  The kurrajongs have come down from the mountains for the winter.   No, wait I'm wrong.  Just heard the first bird.  Not a kookaburra but a butcherbird, the warbler of the woods.  It and the gerygone have the best songs.  The gerygone is the prettiest but the butcherbird is the more ethereal.