Sun climbing into the sky over the mountain;
Reminders of summer on the mainland.
I can hear flies buzzing like sewing machines
against kitchen glass.
The wind through the gums recalls rushing water.
Simple wishes to sit and watch
water-hens at the dam,
ants toiling a dead fly,
Capture the light somehow as it falls against long
chopped wood that on cold nights
keeps the house warm.
Somewhere a cock crows,
it must be confused or else its overslept
and simply wishes to herald its own presence.
There is no room for impatience
the world can run its own way without us.
Here all that matters is to
see the shadows change
while rasberries ripen
in the softer sun.