An hour later we are walking through forest flooded by dusk,
Treecreepers are calling across the track, Night slowly pours
over us. Oyster Creek is black, not moving. Where are frogs
in this armoured silence? I can feel my heart banging.
Wyn is waiting in the clearing, yellow Robins toot around us,
the Kookaburras closed shop ten minutes ago. We are ready
for magic. A couple of minutes and I’m rewarded, a kiss
for first seeing the light. Others appear low to the ground,
darts of dazzle, some green, some tinted red, an illusion I guess.
The forest is moving, flashing then vanishing. Erratic trajectories
keep us guessing. One flies right over my head. How do females
decide? I’m living through this and all I can hear is the sea.
