Anangu 
It was our first day in the desert, and we were driving along a 4WD track. Our car couldn’t really handle the bumpy road, but the sun was quickly sinking in front of us, and we knew just ten more kilometres would get us to a free campsite. If we turned around, we had no idea what was laying in the other direction. Persisting, trying to choose laughter and not anxiety, we came to a flock of crows. Twenty? Thirty? More? It’s hard to say, but in my memory they covered the road. As we approached, slowing the car down, many took flight, and the carcass of a cow, half picked clean, was revealed before us. Sitting atop this carcass, his talons resting on a ribcage, was Bundjil. A wedge-tailed Eagle. 

There was a communal sharp intake of breath. Everything stilled. Tim, who was driving, had to hit the brake, because Bundjil showed no sign of moving. His head was twisted towards us, dark eyes calmly taking us in. Sitting in the backseat, I leant forward, putting our three heads in line. No one moved. We were struck, in pure awe. Bundjil made us wait longer, before he finally lifted his giant wings. Murmers of wonder rippled through the car as he revealed his sturdy, pillar-like legs. Slowly, with control I’d never seen, he flapped those wings and carried himself to the limb of a deadened tree sitting on the side of the road. Like squawking little lackies, the crows followed him, but he remained silent. He didn’t take his eyes off us. 

Gently, Tim eased his foot off the brake, and we continued down the road. Our pilgrimage blessed by the Overseer, the Creator. We had been welcomed.