The occasional falling note

I couldn't help thinking now, walking through the park this early in the night, of the series of YouTube videos of their new house in Brazil, where each of the rooms opens out in beautiful, destitute silence, newly cleared of rubbish but with grey fringed holes in the walls yet to be filled, the sound of dogs barking in a distance which is still so much closer than here, three sets of working bathrooms, plenteous space and a delicate forest of fruit trees beyond what seems to contain a loft; people walking, chatting, by the front of the not unusually caged front yard whose single chair must have been placed by the former owner as it has the look of someone lingering -- thinking of this house as I listened to the bleating of the hundreds of settling corellas in the Moreton Bay figs and gums in Victoria Park and trying to be sure, as it was impossible to single them out, that the series of upward inflecting cries, once sounding together, still managed to hide as soon as it revealed, the occasional falling note.