Why live in winter
in that desolate space
where alone in a landscape
is a crowd
where the wind bites
and leaves no scars
where water no longer gurgles
with delight at your touch
but lies frozen and stagnant
while you wait for spring
for the thaw
that may never come.
a dawn bird
It was summer twenty four hours ago
my skin is still burnished brown
the dawn sun ignites a signal lamp
and spells in code,
slow down.
My girth is too wide for embrace
but where my wisdom is kept
I am matriarch
alive among sapling and dead wood
I am old, as I am young again
Come closer, yes, closer
lean in
hear my autumn song.
a dawn bird
(In response to the RDP word, diametric)
Nature speaks a language
in seasons, and
much like love
what falls away, renews
so from the shards of summer
a fire in my heart has been lit
to keep you warm in autumn.
a dawn bird
Your memory no longer lives within me
the air I breathe is no longer shared,
giving life to the walking dead with each breath
our journey ended, when mine began
Reborn, I woke one day
taking my first breath among trees
and holding me close to her bosom
Mother Nature smiled indulgently
The air I breathe now,
is sweeter than early morning
when I wake to birdsong, my silence
and find diamonds in the garden,
the ones you never had a chance to give me.
a dawn bird
He was a freedom fighter
to me, he was a rebel
to others, a soldier
to my parents, he was trouble
I was barely sixteen,
he, a few years older
we met at a party
fun was what I was after, and so was he
My parents watched with consternation
as things progressed too far
they were wise, cautioned softly, go slow
of course, at sixteen, it was advice I would ignore
At night I’d slip out the back door
to the intimacy of an empty park
somehow I’d find my freedom fighter
with cigarette tip glowing in the dark
He’d kiss me with a passion
I remember to this day
he promised me the world
If we left my hometown and ran away
In the company of friends
we would talk politics, knee deep in the car
I knew little about what he fought for
Yearning only the kind of freedom, I fought for
I once asked him if he’d choose his country or me
He looked at me intently saying
(as only a freedom fighter would)
If your country was wiped off the map
What would you do?
He had fought for his country
at an age when I didn’t know what that meant
But I loved his passion for fight
at a time when I was fighting for independence
Surrendering, my parents gave in
it was the lesser evil of the two
so they let me pack up and leave
all that I knew and loved, behind
He wept when I left him
the train pulled away, I opened his gift
I held it in my hand and smiled
as only a 16 year old would
It was a pendant, a bullet on a chain
Something I would never wear
a premonition of things to come
and yet, I didn’t care
Years later, I heard he was living in the USA
Married with children, he lives a staid life
This morning I know with conviction,
I did the right thing then.
Yes, my parents were right,
he never knew me at all
he may have been a freedom fighter once
but a staid life was not the freedom I fought for
a dawn bird
In an open field
you spin sparkle
a diaphanous snare
of angles and lines
laid down with gridiron precision
in your playground
where no one wins the game.
a dawn bird
The note said, “I’m leaving”
destination, unknown
bags packed and neatly stored
by the front door
I remember the moment well
unafraid, you stepped into the night
and the world trembled as you walked.
I was silenced by your instinct
turned my back on your gamble
after all, what dialect does one use
to reason with this foolish wager
I had too much to lose to watch you win
I stepped aside, always an adult, never a player.
in this game of chance called life.
But truth be told,
I was in awe of your audacity
I followed the footprints you left in my heart
biding my time
until now
I have the courage of a gambler
the curiosity of an explorer
I am a linguist,
I can speak the unspoken now
I can stare you down
or so I thought.
Last night I took my place
as you threw the dice
our eyes met, fortune flipped
your gaze softened
as I scooped the winnings
unaware you let me win
to become the woman I am now
a dawn bird
I’ve always believed faith is a gift you give yourself but hope is a gift others give you. And, there have been times I was more generous with my gift to self, than accepting a gift from others. Since then I’ve learned, having faith alone can be a closed door and just the opposite of what faith represents.
Hope has a sneaky way of entering one’s life. A gift received unexpectedly, without you knowing it is a gift. Soon you find, it is something you cannot live without. It came to me gift wrapped in brown paper. Innocuous. I opened it up. I’m glad I did. It seemed a good place to start and I found it in the wonderful philosophy of Marie Kondo, the queen of declutter who promotes ‘keep what brings you joy’. I took the declutter philosophy and adapted it to a lifestyle choice. It transformed the way I live. I now travel light. I live with joy.
My garden is a place of joy. Sometimes it is barren, sometimes not, but in all its states, it is like a friend. Always there. Non-judgemental. Forgiving. Offering surprises when I need them most.
Being time poor I’ve had the same gardener for over 16 years. He’s inextricably linked to my garden. He’s elderly and comes by just for a few $ of pub money. He enjoys pottering around comfortable in the space he creates. Like an adorned tree, his face lights up at Christmas when I give him a bottle of his favourite whiskey, and I look forward to his heartfelt thank you that accentuates his unmistakable Mancunian accent. An avid fan of English football, he likes to share his enthusiasm when his team plays. I give him more than a few minutes of my time because I know talking about his footy team, brings him joy. I might add, I know nothing about sport but manage to wing it with him!
There are some flowers I love. Pansies and violas are some of them. I love how they look hand painted and when they bloom I’m always nearby. Instead of being disappointed when they are past their prime, I look forward to their season again.
It’s raining this morning and cool, too cool. A tee shirt seems inadequate. I have to remind myself we are in the middle of summer. But the contrast between winter and summer spurned me to write and immerse myself into a moment that integrates past and present.
I recalled this morning a moment that stays vivid in memory. I had returned from one trip to a garden that was nearly barren. There were no favourite flowers to be found. I didn’t want the company of the vivid geraniums. Emotionally spent from a challenging trip, I wanted something more delicate to bounce off how I felt. From the corner of my eye I saw a pansy growing between rocks. If there was ever a message of hope, this was it. It brought together what I knew to be true in life. Along with faith, one has to have imperishable hope in one’s emotional tool kit.
A raindrop fell today
it found the driest place to land
and filtered down the earth
past pebbles, stones and sand
The raindrop searched for a single seed
in the dirt, dormant and dry
invisible, unseen
except to The Gardener's eye
The seed did not know the purpose
it lay passive in parched land
unquestioning why placed there
by The Gardener's steady hand.
The Gardener knew when the rain came
the season would be right
the raindrop would seek the seed
the one He buried in the night
The raindrop relentless in search
found the seed, the dormant one
it reached in reconciliation
and the seed, reached for the sun.
a dawn bird
There was no scarf across face
No end of pointed gun or knife
That demanded or else
Just a new kind of tyranny
a barrier of arrogance
of privilege
unashamed
mocking
unmoving
for the freedom he thinks he represents.
In the smile on his young face
moored, this unfathomably legacy
this “great” era,
where hate masquerades as freedom
an assumed privilege,
without boundaries
without responsibility.
a dawn bird
The tide arrived at night
It swirled around my head
It found the vault, where memories are kept
As the tide reached that sacrosanct shore
Bringing storms, spinning truth, distorting reality
What was once mine, was no longer mine to keep
So I opened the vault, and threw away the key
Swept off my feet, the tide carried me last night
Leaving only sea prints in the sand
I woke this morning, free, adrift, whole
the sea, my healer, found a tide
that brought me home, to love again.
a dawn bird
Each day, the honeyeater anticipates
the sweetest sip
trembling in the afterglow
her trill, resonates.
a dawn bird
It is difficult to comprehend it is over a year since my holiday in the north to a remote outback cattle station in the East Kimberley region. The thought of a very ‘rustic’ environment where crocodiles, lizards and snakes are prolific was easily overcome because I know the landscape. It is awe inspiring. I joined a group of writers. All strangers. I hadn’t written and shared my work face to face with an audience for over 17 years, following the loss of my writing buddy. So I didn’t expect to write anything. Why would I, I reasoned. The anonymity of blogging was satisfying a deeper need in me. But I looked forward to the experience of the East Kimberley. And, I, who flinches at the sight of a tiny gecko, wanted to test my mettle in this harsh environment.
One night I lay in the ‘rustic’ cabin listening to the sounds of the outback. Something in me came alive. I allowed the previous days of writing with strangers, now intimate strangers, to flood my senses. I wrote this after sleeping in a tent in a very remote area, on the banks of the King River, where the eyes of a crocodile glowed at dusk. The brolgas called in the distance. I knew they danced under the stars. My heart heard their music. The feeling of oneness with strangers in a stranger environment was complete for the city me. I opened up.
As the moon brightened the night,
I walked along the celestial bitumen
I saw stars there, signposts for travellers lost.
I saw stars in other places too, that only I could see.
Have I been lost? Did you leave them there for me?
As dawn unveiled the granite ridge
I saw a kapok tree, aglow, with yellow flowers on bare, brown branches
And at my door, emu and wallaby.
Child-like I spied on nature
clutching seedpods in my hand
held my breath watching blue dragonflies land
And, while passing travellers warned,
I experienced life at a billabong.
I walked down a dusty path, visible to you, not me
to Mother Boab tree
and at my feet, I found stars twinkling
where light and shadow meet.
I have been on a silent journey
This time, the million steps became one,
when I headed out in someone else’s footsteps
and returned in mine.
My fellow travellers, you were not to know
long ago, yet, like yesterday
Grief silenced me.
But in the barren night, alone, not alone
I found something glowed in the Kimberley
It was the stars
The ones you left for me.
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
A Shared Space 
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