When feelings of loss take hold, I make
a pilgrimage to the bottom of the hill,
seeking my river temple.
Empty shoreline awaits. There’s comfort
in a silent wind that strokes my face;
a maternal embrace.
Low tides betray the old jarrah convict fence; history
reemerges if only to sun drenched cormorant feathers.
A breath from a large day.
I see myself in shy pelicans, quietly propelled
by curious notions; wild momentum bubbling below.
My eyes caress
the inlet’s contours; lofty Osprey’s nest awaits its tenant’s
return from aerial duty. Closer, ghostly jellyfish skirts billow;
meditations of hello.
Pangs echo in the invisible of my being; underscoring my tiny
treasured place amongst an eternity of beings. Truly we roam.
In nature, I always have a home.