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
Angela Gardner is the author of Some Sketchy Notes on Matter and others. She has received a Churchill Fellowship, the Thomas Shapcott Poetry Prize, and Australia Council Residencies and Project funding.
Subscribe
Become a subscriber to get four beautiful issues a year for just $49—and help keep print culture alive.
Subscribe