I trap a rainbow out to sea, a delicate force of nature
soon smudged by cloud and rain scribbling the windows.
England lost the Ashes before lunch on the third day!
The left-over turkey was delicious with coleslaw
A Great Egret skims overhead, a Satin Bowerbird is feeding
on a Lilly Pilly, I’ll tell Wyn I already have the Bowerbird book.
48 hours later, my mother sounds a year older,
no news, hasn’t seen a soul since Christmas Day.
At 95, each day is one day closer to the great going.
I catch the last of the light, the day’s tempered breathing . . .