With the museums still closed, I’m going farther afield and finding art in unexpected places. To the northwest of Canberra is the National Arboretum, which stretches over 618 acres. One of the world’s largest collections of rare, endangered, and significant trees, it’s also home to some interesting works of art.
 
On the trail to the Himalayan Cedar Forest, at the top of the hill, is an arresting sight.

The sculpture spells out "wide brown land" in cursive and frames the hills marking Canberra's western and southern boundaries. The sculpture celebrates this piece of a poem called "My Country," written by Dorothea Mackellar in 1908:

Mackellar wrote the poem at age 22, when she was living in England and homesick for Australia. First published in London, “My Country” quickly became one of Australia's best-known poems.
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The sculpture, created in steel by Marcus Tatton, Futago Design Studios, and Chris Viney in 2010 was inspired by Mackellar’s own cursive handwriting.
 
Looking at the sculpture up close, or from the back, it becomes an intriguing abstract squiggle.

And on sunny weekends, children can’t resist climbing all over the sculpture. Neither could our dog.

While I miss the museums and galleries, I’m thankful for other ways to experience art in these challenging times.

Large, mostly black birds with bright yellow eyes, currawongs aren’t showy like Australian parrots, and they don’t have the swaggering personality of magpies (although they are often mistaken for them). Someone I read called currawongs the foxes of the bird world. I’d agree—particularly when I’m staring into those watchful, wily eyes. Like foxes, they have adapted well to humans and are persistent predators.
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The bird’s name comes from its call, which sounds like “curra-wong, curra-wong.” Although Australia has several types of currawongs, I’m focusing on the pied currawong, since it’s the one that lives near me. The pied currawong is black, with white under the tail and near the tips of its wings. It has a large black bill, with dark grey legs. The males and females look alike, but the juveniles are greyer and fluffier.

Pied currawongs eat almost anything—small birds, young birds, lizards, young possums, insects, berries—even roadkill. They sometimes store their prey in a makeshift larder to eat later, hanging it on a hook or storing it in a crevice or tree fork.

Both males and females gather sticks and grasses for their nest, but the female builds it in a high tree fork. The male feeds the female while she incubates the eggs and feeds the chicks after they hatch.

Currawongs are not popular birds. My next-door neighbor, for example, loathes them because they can decimate the population of smaller birds. Poet Judith Wright characterized a currawong couple as a gangster and a moll.
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However, they are voracious eaters of harmful insects and clean up carrion as well. Like magpies, currawongs are playful. This currawong comes by my office window nearly every day to play peekaboo.

Magpies and currawongs have a long history of working together. One story from the indigenous peoples of Australia says that currawongs ended a drought by flying to find a Cloud Spirit to make some rain. They brought one back, led home by the magpie’s song.

Sometimes they even sing together. 
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Although currawongs may have a terrible reputation, they are still welcome visitors to my backyard.