Sunday,

Into the Meadow,I bear a branch from the She Oak as an offering,

I bear a picture of the black soldier ant’s path, up the tallest gum tree,

I bear a lake now half filled with the water of fresh rains

Upon a bed of baked clay where below the frogs sing.

The dawn dawns with fire that rises in the east, bringing with it a cool breeze that is scooping up the falling leaves  that dance, and twist allowing themselves to gently fall  upon a different spot and it reminds me of the the ever changing  cycles of life.  Beyond the wide, gurgling river rushes forth, and I in my boat not ..championing  to be Mole, who sets forth upon a journey ho.

Freya’s Day

The river sang in rhymes of effortless movement  of peaked crème waves

Spilling out upon each other and rising in delight as they rushed to the shore

Silver fish,  darted unseen in waters murky and deep

The moon  shrouded by  endless cloud movement shone  golden in a haze

And kookaburras, Kings of the bushy sea,  flew in singing in unison to such splendour.

whilst lily and I gazed, strangers to this realm, treading upon sacred soil,

for change was upon us as Samhain draws near – heralding the New Year.

Just me, the Land and the River

On the night of the recent Full Moon, with Lily by my side I walked down to the flowing

river to view the Moon and saw her throw golden pearls upon the river’s face, creating a

pathway for her as a stairway from Heaven,

She stepped forth wearing dainty shoes and hovered upon the surface

but alas, I could not reach her as  I stretched out a welcoming hand but she slipped away

from me like melting cheese,

I did try to climb an invisible ladder and for three brief seconds, I hovered

Neither between land and sea, a tiny wave in a sea of consciousness

Just me, the land and the river