FOR THE SUMMER
Leaving the swaddled baby
Sleeping radiantly
Tucked up in her cradle,
And Sal
About to lie down and rest,
On a hot November evening
I went running into the forest.
The eucalypts rang
With the fire alarm clangour
Of cicadas keening
And hardly anything sang:
There was no point,
The bug lamentations
Were everywhere dominant.
On the side of a tall hill
I looked up into the blue
That had seemed indelible
But was now growing pale
And saw dark wands
Weaving to and fro
On curious errands.
No, they were swifts,
Down from the Himalaya
For the summer,
Free wheeling cursive
Against the bright beyond;
And as I neared the crest
I became aware of a sound
I was lucky to hear
(They ride so high
And wide in the air):
The tiny cries of joy
The birds made
Eating up the day
As it glowed and faded.
Brian
PS If anyone is interested, I can send audio of the extraordinary sound of a eucalypt forest ringing with cicadas.
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