Captured By the Creek

Like a drug of dependence, this will keep me coming back out along the Sardine Creek, walking on a wombat track. I should know every cranny and hurdle in the way, But secrets of the bush keep arising every day. I am captured by a log with its copper coloured skink, a family of firetail finches flying down to take a drink, the scent of wild boronia drifting down a mountainside, a wallaby amongst some wiregrass, believing it can hide. I am no more important than a leaf upon the ground, and no more influential than a feather that I found. I do not have the power of the Admiral butterflies, and feel I’m way too over sympathetic where death lies. I am captured by the orange fungi, hiding from the light, a flock of screeching mountain lories overhead in flight. Maidenhair cascading, mingling with the waters flow, and showers in the pollen where clematis creepers grow. I am not to be the master, just one link that’s in the chain, like the sand upon the creek bed, I merely am one grain. Yes I am one single figure that will come and go with time, where strength does mean survival; weakness the lethal crime. I am captured by the creek and the bounty it provides, the colour and its boldness or a sweet voice that it hides, I do not have a vision for to progress or reshape… Yes here is where I’m captured and I never will escape.