A breath
of fresh
air in
Spring is
full of
pollen.
A breath
of fresh
air in
Spring is
full of
pollen.
Cabbage White
butterflies
seem boring
to me. All
exactly
the same in
their looks and
behaviour.
But I guess
they don’t seem
like that to
each other.
Every day,
somewhere in the
world, billions
of birds sit on
their nests, content
and confident
about the eggs
that they cherish.
I hate the
sound of a
rabbit, at
night, screaming
in the jaws
of a fox.
But I can’t
hear the fox
cubs crying
with hunger.
The Choughs
are back
doing some
gardening for
me, and the
sight of their
ungainly walk
and their happy
family warms
the cockles of
my cold winter
heart.
Once I saw
on the ground
under trees
blue fragments
of a small
egg. But were
they from an
egg that fell
or one that
had hatched?
I didn’t
know just what
I should feel.
Birds in pairs,
galahs,
magpies,
rosellas,
butcher birds,
crows,
peewits,
birds in pairs,
thinking of
Spring.
The Butcher Bird
singing,
beautifully,
from the old
dead tree
this morning,
doesn’t know about
coronavirus.
I weep
bitter tears
when drought
breaking rain
is forecast
and I get
just a little
bit less than
bugger all
The “Black Dog”
is the symbol
of depression.
The “Brown Snake”
should be the
symbol of
anxiety.