BLISS
A rainbow arc of hammock stretched between two trees
obscures
the lawn's flower carpet below. Gentle swaying. A 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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