The feijoa flowers as if to itself. All of this (it
seems to say). All of this.
Out in the garden the lorikeets are reverent
in a chatty way. The light says we are beside the sea
a glimpse of water and fuschia.
There’s kangaroo paw. In everyone’s gardens
the horizon. We read
the possibility of summer in the sound of insects
the wind chilling, showers possible and changeable.
The trees wave their raggedy hands in the sky.
Every year pink blossom. Pollen drift in the air.
Follow us for more: