All is impending doom, as Hila recently described. Doom and gloom. Gloom and doom. Every which way one turns in dispirited lead up to election day. Having already voted earlier today in a crowded Baptist Church in Northcote, I am this evening making like one of Louise's birds and burying my head in the sand. (The view's not bad, under here.) It is the most bird-like I've ever been, I am told. Normally more feline or rodent in mannerism than feathered friend, tonight I am the ostrich. I will focus on the cracking progress Louise's A Year of Southern Hemisphere Birds is making, and the hand-coloured edition of ten that accompany this unique-state artists' book, A Flight of Twelve Southern Hemisphere Birds, too. Launching side-by-side come late October at the Baillieu Library, University of Melbourne, today afforded the chance for show and tell in the library. Owing to the day's downpour, trusty garbage bags made good the carrying of artists' books in state of progress. A gold-lined solander box and precious contents received not one drop. So, here assembled, recent views, from a teddy still lost and awaiting collection in a storefront's window to our reflected readiness to visit to a woodland glade (in the form of The Australian Ballet's La Sylphide, and Paquita at the State Theatre), a Father's Day feast and leisure, and back once more to Geelong Gallery, this time with Louise's parents. And tomorrow I turn 38. This is something of a relief to me as I have spent the year thus far already believing myself to be eight and thirty.