Lockdown, Sunday, Aug 29th

The gold in this forest is found in death, judging the moment,
stumps incised by time’s spiral. This forest has been assaulted
but the Blackbutts are huge and have grown bigger
since we arrived here over ten years ago.
The ocean is out of reach for Oyster Creek, but we know
the patience of water from the Grand Canyon and Iguazu Falls.
A Golden Whistler disturbs the still air with melodic whistling
a scrum of midges fight over water seeping between the timbers
of the bridge. The sea-tongue has lost all colour from the sky.
the vines tie knots in the contagious grey surrounds. The trees play statues as if the earth has stopped spinning,
and we are left, inhalation after inhalation in appreciation
of the tireless work life undertakes.

~
The garden seat has a wonderful view of the bird bath,
but it’s not very popular. As a child I was intrigued
by St Francis, then I read Gerald Durrell and became
ambitious to follow and become more pro-active . . .but this is sufficient, a fern crook alight, our very first
Japonica flower, the effervescence of Brazilian bromeliads,
a gift, the first dragonfly of the season, species unknown,a silvered web crowning the Magnolia, and the massive
backdrop of a Gumbaynggirr forest in Gumbaynggirr Country.