Traffic and Park
Steady surf of stormy seas crashing
incessantly on a seaweed-strewn beach,
that's what I seem to hear right now
in this inland Melbourne suburb.
It's morning rush hour on Victoria Road
(till 1914 it was called Bismarck)
resonating across that end of the park
along the turf and through the trees
under the high power lines that arc
over from one pylon to the next -
to my ears, as I take them on our
morning slow walk with my eyes
and the dog. Eyes exercise on clouds, whether
they may portend the wished-for weather.
Will the promised showers occur
and let me off a tedious hour
of garden watering? Eyes swivel
to the heritage¹ homestead,
Friedensruh, dating from when
the Lutheran pioneers planted
orchards and named houses and roads.
Its garden is well kept up by one
of their descendants - old roses
under old trees, one said to be
here because Victoria¹s Baron
von Mueller the great botanist
liked to ride this way. Gesundheit!
Dog is firmly on-leash since that
episode with a German Shepherd -
renamed Alsatian¹, lately reverted,
but still resonating danger.
We traipse our slow circuit.
Dog-senses register smells most,
distant dogs catch his eye next.
I¹m inhaling autumn and history,
exhaling vapour in the almost-frost.
Max Richards
