Birds are the first thing I hear
when I sit down beside the fig and the hoop pine. Lots of them,
from tree to tree, sounding happy
in the late sun softened by a breeze.
Then I hear the sea,
continual, always our background.
The cyclist in the park glides silently
but the birds notice and comment: a sudden flurry of music.
When I listen deeper, I hear
the leaves moving very gently
fluttering like feathers. It seems the trees
are spreading wings and preening, it seems they smile.
I rest my chin in my hands. I am in no hurry to go anywhere.
The circling branches of the fig
make a frame for the park and the road beyond.
The sun starts to burn my back through my nylon blouse.
A helicopter growls and chugs in the clouds.
© Rosemary Nissen-Wade 2008
My friend Raeline, visiting in January from overseas, gave me a reading with her Spiritual Voyager cards. One thing I was told was to go out into nature, listen to nature, and then write my poems. It's productive!
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