The daffodils and jonquils are in full display
Informing me that Spring Is Coming
In the middle of July
Yet so are the pansies
Coveted for beauty
Their smiling faces
Always brought colour to Winter gardens....
It is a strange year indeed.
September's Cootamundra wattle,
Flowers in my big blue sky,
Nothing here but me and the birds.
Be led down the garden path with me
Past that ironbark, what will we see?
Toes in the sun, moss on the rocks,
Green after rain.
Happiness in granite boulders...
Torn fibres and layers
Trees are such wonders,
if we never lose our child's eyes.
A moss map,
Catchment in the rock,
like casurinas lining the creeks
between the ploughed land
is becoming rock himself.
Should be so lucky.
To study stones,
and be so still.