It’s not the moment, I rest.
Alongside the bays of the inlet
Bench warmed by the rays of afternoon sun.
I choose this as a place to reflect
Beat down, beat down, oh warm one.
The winds carry and blow all that it knows,
from banks to houses nestled on the foreshore.
Peace it would be
if it was not for an electric blower
a resident decided to turn on just now,
just for me.
I guess they want to be like the gust,
Winds, who have not stopped swirling
So many days, says the locals, it seems.
Messages would be clear,
but this Aussie girl just can’t hear
It could be the disorientation
of the endless hills on this bike trip
Exhausted by the uphill
Thrilled by the downfall.
The opposite of what we know.
Or perhaps it’s the blower, wanting to be the wind.
Gratitude to the neighbour who came to chat to him,
to Mr Blower from down the lane near the inlet bay
Where I rest in the rays
All I can hear know is the slapping of tiny waves
Alongside the inlet of this bay.