I think it was a Lewin

In this moment, we hear the call of a Lewin’s Honeyeater, it's call, sharp, fast, unmistakable once you know it. My grandfather recognises it straight away, pointing it out like an old friend. The bird’s song stays with us as we walk, weaving in and out of the soundscape, a reminder that we’re always being noticed by the land, even if we’re just passing through.

It’s those small recognitions of place, of sounds that root us deeper in our surroundings.