The Canteen Mystery
Definitely not Brahms
Trimming a Eucalypt
Rivers I have known
My new career
Daisy - a love sonnet
...yes, it's in the eye...
Fear of Forests
Cup Day Chat
Winds of Change
Hating the Wind
List of 2008 stories
Rising on wings polished by the morning sun,
The harrier, with long bronzed feathers, glides lazily,
Circles, soars, floats; its downcast eyes riveted,
Searching for stray movements among swaying reeds
In the watery fingers of wetland below;
Betrayed by the wind, a bandicoot scurries;
And the harrier drops!
Six tiny ducklings are mothered and safe;
Fluffy brown balls, bobbing quietly along;
But the water is dropping, the rain's not come;
The harrier's watching and hovers above;
There's a dog on the path only metres away.
Will they learn to survive and grow to be strong?
Are they destined to die?
Three long-legged herons, tall flying brooms;
Slowly, the trio flop down with a splash,
Stand, and reflect in this watery grave;
Ankle-deep shallows are not deep enough;
Crumbling brown banks lie broken and cracked;
Heavenly once, but the future's not here
If the water dries up.
The rain doesn't fall, the creek's nearly dry;
Bones on the bank lie bleached and disjointed;
The herons have gone and frogs stopped croaking;
The ducklings have flown - the two that survived;
The wetland's not wet, just earthy and bare;
The sun and the summer drag oppressively on;
But the harrier's still there!