Notes About The Poem
Written 10th September, 2026 entered in Autumn's Many Colorful Moons Poetry Contest sponsored by Daniel Henry Rodgers
What the Trees Let Go DHR
"The cooler weather changed our work—
not the land’s will to live." :by poet
When the water begins to cool
and we can no longer swim,
when the hot winds begin to cool,
when each day we no longer fear
the bushfire’s hunger,
then the time has come
to change our ways.
Dad hitches up the trailer
and we all go out collecting wood.
While Dad cuts the big limbs
dropped by the eucalypts,
my brothers and sisters and I
gather smaller branches and twigs—
kindling that snaps clean
between our hands.
When the trailer is full,
we gather more than we need:
wood set aside
for others in town
before the cold comes.
We bring home only
what the trees have already dropped—
paperbark in pale, curling sheets,
eucalyptus bark in silver ribbons,
and fern fronds.
Later, when the weather holds us in,
Nana spreads the bark across the table
and helps us to see in it
distant mountains rising
from the bark’s silver grain,
a small house made of twigs,
birds taking flight
from fern fronds,
clouds and chimney smoke
teased from wool.
In the vegetable patch,
tomatoes give up their last warmth.
We plant what can bear
the whitening mornings.
Banksias opened
their rough gold brushes
into the cooling air.
Rainbow lorikeets
shrieked and squabbled
over their nectar.
Now, as the weather cools,
I wear a hand-knitted jumper.
The garden keeps growing.
Banksia nectar feeds
hungry birds.
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