Bush morning

© Copyright Russell Atkinson, 2010

Stream clean dusk and reeds,

High cloud, flattened back,

To horizons gold beamed and purple

In the autumn cool;

Birds glide to shallow water-reeds to rest –

Winged eddies

In the chill crisp air.

Others come

Flying through the thick quiet;

Perfect passing like the

Slow breath of sleep and fulfilled waiting.

Wings rise and fall

Away with the black forms flying,

Slowly, slowly,

Through the high

Matter – free sky,

While down

In the stream thicker water swims the fish,

Down, deep down,

Under the draped green willow.

On solid earth banks

The dew-silvered grasses grow high,

To the silent sitting,

Cud-chewing cow’s cold morning muzzle.

The morning chorus fades away;

The sun is rising higher;

Only the magpie sings,

And the rabbits are back in their borrows.