Silvan Dam

under a broad sign “Silvan Reservoir Park” I turn the steering wheel and see wristwatch hands pointing to a quarter past three in the afternoon there is enough time for tea and biscuits by the dam before sunset slowly erases colours from the Dandenong Ranges I suppose this is where I crush autumn leaves (some red and some green) quite crisply and cleanly on the base of my leather-strap boots and I step onto the warm silvan lawn over small yellow patches where sunlight burnt holes in the grass “lay the blanket down there” where words have not been uttered in several decades this is where I learnt to play catch by the force of a hard red cricket ball on nervous, shaking hands I hope to hold onto one today listen to the wind rustle the trees and that cyclical rhythm oo-oo-aa-aa-aa when kookaburras laugh as if to say “I see you, dear” and what I say when the clock is well past three and colours are erased and the woods are not familiar to me is that here in Autumn is heaven on earth