flopping, lethargic on the tent awning,
unhurried, yet wetly persistent; fall from overhanging leaves and limbs.
The swift flap, swoosh, of the black currawong’s wings
come to peruse our camping supplies.
Well-sealed containers, transparent, tease the birds.
An empty promise of tantalising goodies.
Claws scrabble ineffectually; it’s a pointless exercise. We won’t feed them; encourage dependence and disease. Eyes bright, accusing, they fly off, defeated.
Mozzies buzz; keen to feed - undeterred by rain and cold.
Think of friends touring Europe, the art and culture,
crowds and queues,
and feel content.
|After the rain. |
Thurra National Park. North East Victoria.
|Thurra National Park.|