Waiting for the Rain

Angela Gardner | 41 Restless. The wind a pressure, an equalization come to heat and violence. And the garden, just a hill-­ top field between forest and more forest. Who could say it is an indulgence? Elaboration of plumage concealed now at midday. Brush box and red cedar, transiting down northwards to a stand of blue gum, with pine a boundary wind-­ break to the west. Turbulent paradise, thirsting. Only the bell-­ birds active in their harvesting and destroying, and in that, insistent. Their unremitting turbine, and behind that another turbine of some greater force, and that, only just held-­ back. poetry Waiting for the Rain Angela Gardner ...