Cold blew in gently this time
a broom sweeping autumn
into neat piles, promising, not
winter, but a return of sorts.
Such a reflective moment
in between planting and hiatus.
Meadows wait their turn.
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Gardens
Leaves
After rain there is softness underfoot
as leaves cleave to undergrowth making
mulch. I’m walking on undulating
paths of yellow tallow, cut-outs
falling like patchwork
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Rain
There’s night music rustling
outside, insects treading
softly as they gather under
leaf listening to an open air
concert of rain song.
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in which rain popped in
Soundless except for piano keys
trilling the leaves like a dragonfly.
Invisible, except for its veil
which shifts imperceptibly
like the lace of time.
A slow pavane of notes
across the patch….
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in which the patch turns yellow
Yellow tagetes have sprung into light
like butterflies skimming the surface
of the sun. Pear and crab apple nod
to autumn turning into the reddish
shades of a mellow dusk. The patch
pauses, dappled reflections filtering
through arches of cathedral trees
as leaves drop from an endless blue.
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Three seasons
Rain has ceased.
Three seasons circle
our little spot of ozone
hot, mild and cool-
like food, or temperament.
A pear tree blossoms
in this once upon a time
autumn while bougainvilleas
flower as if summer always
was. Gardeners prune
when cool arrives.
On the islands sea rises,
fish retreat, crops fail,
patches of land disappear
people move
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Leaf Sky
The sycamores shed
their brittle leaves
as if in relief, frames
fragile after an eight
month summer
which still lingers
between the autumn
hours of dawn and dusk.
Currawong flies home
to the jacaranda.
Fragments
of leaf sky song
drop down
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