Photo: Queensland D.P.I.
Purple Morning Glory trumpets ‘hello’ from overhead.
I stop to look at the fluted bells floating past as I walk
for my heart, but my heart stops for an instant for them.
Hedges of Duranta, pale mauve petals and tiny berries
yellowed all over as if painted by pixies or elves
quicken my pulse and I stop again to ponder.
In this early, sub-tropical stroll, autumn inspired,
snow falls in showers of Himalayan Ash blossom,
cascades from bare head to shoes and walking trail.
Bridal bouqets of small leaf and large leaf privet
catch me by surprise, covering an old cow gate
beside a huge, light green Camphor Laurel tree.
Downwards, over a cliff-face, I see a prism flash.
Colors of wild Lantana clamber the escarpment.
Butterflies love its florets; they love butterflies.
Like a balloon filled with Helium, I bounce home.
Bubbly. Effusive. Lie down after a shower. Yes.
My heart is in the right place. That bliss of solitude
Wordsworth well knew, I know. My heart fills.
Those floral marvels on my farm-stroll walk
again, within. They and man have a special bond.
These are invasive weeds. Their crime, not beauty,
but breeding too well. Like our living and breeding,
they endanger the planet, or our part of it.
I am solitary and sad as a popped balloon.
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