24 September The koel calls all night. The sun shakes me awake like it too has been up all night and can't wait for the day to begin again.
24 September Waiting outside my gate red cap and endless patience my garbage bin.
13 September The digger stands in weary pause a burning battlefield beyond but it's sunset on the ANZAC bridge and the digger's made of iron. 9 September Wisteria hangs wearily as if the cloying heat of Summer had already pressed its weight upon the vine. 4 September There is less gravity. The soggy sky now drops blossom rain. I peel layers, my shy skin warming to the spotlight and the crowds. 31 August Bush back-burning we paint a strawberry and apricot bushfire sunset across the Winter sky. 29 August
The Southern Cross sinks slowly from my sight as the scent of jasmine rises fragrant in the night.
The clear notes of a butcherbird slice the pre-dawn silence. In the ensuing emptiness, feathered shadows crouch and wait.
The rain leans into shadowed doorways, expelling a random scurrying of people with newspaper hats.
The moon is magnified by the curve of day, mimicked in the city's mirrored towers, multiplied in the laden lemon tree.
The moon's stalwart smile yellows like old enamel as it sinks to the earth winking at the moment of demise.
A raven drawls lazily at the slow revving of engines and the clanging of tradies tools. Monday is as relentless as I am reticent.