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.
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