I grew up on a soldier settlement block at Wrattonbully in the south east of South Australia. This is a poem about the swamp on our property.
Black necks rise within the reeds and
swans majestically glide
to island nests.
A red filigree cloaks the water’s surface
and dandelions dance around the fringe.
Frogs reiterate a di-tone, forever making the same point.
Bank upon bank of clouds march,
dotted by a squadron of ducks.
They circle and lower their landing carriages,
approach the watery runway
brakes hard on,
Such frantic movement is quickly absorbed into
the harmony of the whole scene.
A duckling pauses, peruses its surroundings,
shakes its head
and swims on.
The breeze plays against eardrums,
Light, swan honks, reeds swaying, ripples.
Enough to nurture the soul.