Uncategorized Writing

Sunday – My Garden (I have no idea why this double-spaced, dammit!)

Sunday — My Garden

 It’s Sunday.

I have to mow,

tidy the mess I call

my garden.

But first I’ll have a cuppa,

while I plan how to attack

my growing problem.

The grass is knee-high

The vegies need watering

The edges need trimming.

The front first, I think,

The neighbours are complaining.

But first, I’ll have my cuppa.

A fresh breath of sea air

chases itself through

the palm and hibiscus leaves.

It kisses my cheeks,

insinuates itself into

my awareness, then skips off.

I lift my face.

Mama and Papa sea eagle,

dark wings extended from brawny white chests,

glide through endless blue,

which pulls my soul

into its fascinating emptiness.

A duo of yellow fairies,

tiny sunbirds,

flit across the veranda

on their way to their hanging nest

suspended from an old chain

looped around the rafters of the car port

In, out, flit, flit…disappear.

Flutter-bys, pthalo blue and brilliant green

suckle and dip, hover and sip

from the cerise bloom

of the ramshackle bouganvillea.

Unkempt, untrimmed

but very much cared for

it lounges in the far corner

soaking up winter warmth.

A pair of forest kingfishers

flashing azure jewel wings

visit the fish pond.

One stands guard, the other

throws caution to the wind

and plunges in for a bracing bath.

A blue-wing watches haughtily

from the rusty gutter of the shed

He gives a derisive half-laugh

before flapping off to share the joke

with his mates in the bushland

beyond my back fence.

They loudly enjoy his point of view.

Overhead, an extended family

of white cockatoos shout

jocular abuse at each other

as they scatter, gather and scatter

in search of the nearest

free feed.

The wind rushes back

bringing the smell of distant fire

and a group of blue-banded honeyeaters

to squabble over nectar

hidden in red bottle brush,

which sway and dance

under their weight.

I join them

take my first sip.

The tea is as cold as the morning

I’ll heat it up and then

…I’ll mow.

But first I’ll have my cuppa.