BLISS
A rainbow arc of hammock stretched between two trees
obscures the lawn's flower carpet below. Gentle swaying.
Mix of jasmine and freesia perfume. Filtered sun,
grey clouds threatening, patches of blue. Distant waves
crashing rhythm. Magpie warbles heralding the rainstorm
looming.
Temperature dropping. I may have to go inside soon.
I can just see the yellow grevillea flowers over hammocks
edge
and a Rainbow Lorikeet upside down nectar feeding in
clownish antics.
The trees are hissing, the breeze stirs, the wind chime's
clear
tones are C maj tuned. There's much to-ing and fro-ing of
birds.
A kookaburra joins the magpie's song. Sky darkens.
A butcher bird drops in and perches above me, garbed in soft
greys,
blacks and cremes; hopeful for meat scraps. I'm resting
after walking
the dog the beach's length. Sea eagles were fishing off Lion
island
again and the grey heron hanging out along millionaire's
way.
Rain starting to spot, I don't want to move. Floating on a
ball of twine,
gliding on my multicoloured wings. The currawongs have
started now
"its going to rain today". There's a lull. The breeze smells
of rain
on eucalyptus, recalls bush tea infused with smoke, misted
valleys
in early morning dew. I'm too lazy to go get a cuppa tea.
Up high, the rain clouds travel on north, the patches of
blue widen.
Another lull. Its a quiet place to live with the birds. At
night
the Boobook mo-pokes the hours away. The bird chorus
continues.
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