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.