Peter Skrzynecki

 

Crimson Rosellas

 

Peter Skrzynecki

 

Crimson rosellas feeding

under the banksia-tree

while  rain falls, gentle as a mist,

and  clouds hang over the forest.

 

The sun’s yet to shine

over the beaches of Jervis Bay.

 

Last night I stood

on the same steps, beneath

the banksia’s  gold and green

branching over the roof –

 

hearing the comfort

that voices of she-oaks

and bulrushes gave to the evening’s drive

along the broad Shoalhaven.

 

All’s well, the voices said –

as destination grew closer

in time and space.

The house with its small treasure of books

waits and will not go away.

 

The voices spoke of rest, retreat, poetry,

listening to music,

the coming season of summer light on Jervis Bay,

 

they  said nothing of the surprise, the joy

of finding crimson rosellas

feeding in the morning

under the banksia’s gift of gold and green.

 

 

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