The light begins to take cover under a sea of clouds;
the clouds move closer and grower darker and darker.
I keep the light off in my room, waiting for the rain to
begin, and hoping for the chance to show you a photo.
You are stuck in North Queensland being burnt by the
sun every day; I sit here in the cold, wet winter I love.
The night creeps closer, and the sky becomes darker,
as the rain starts to fall and move down the window.
I take a series of photos, then send my best one to you,
although I think you will say the weather is yucky again.
The night sets in. I imagine you out and about in the
garden, talking to the neighbour or cooking dinner for two.
You stay locked in North Queensland, and I stay locked in
Gippsland, as we wait for the chance to hug and kiss again.
The light is a faded memory on the horizon, as twilight loses
to the night and the absence of moon and stars leaves only
the reflection of someone I should know better in the window.
The wild winds from across the hills whip up
a number of feelings in this winter of ours.
We feel the ice from across the southern sea
flow up through us and change us again.
Still, the wild winds won’t change the hearts
of the many who will never understand.
They remain still and translucent to our eyes,
as they never realise their full potential.
Dressing up with friends,
he is Ragnar Lodbrok
the Viking King.
With a helmet from Bunnings,
a shield from the kitchen, and
a vacuum cleaner hose for a sword,
he fights invisible battles.
All fired up he attacks the
harasses the cats,
pretends the lounge is the sea,
and drives Mum up the wall.
You walked in the busy city, stopping to wait for the right light.
A quick snap below of what’s above, reminds you of Winter’s day.
Looking back, you stare at the image of Melbourne town.
There is a silent way about the grey; a stillness in the sky.
Perhaps you will again see Melbourne moving on a winter’s day.
of celebrating too loudly.
Last year was a mess,
we hope for the best.
Not game to celebrate
lest we jinx the coming year.
Winter winds blow across the backyard.
A bunny bounces, so we take a photo.
Sunsets mock us, so we take an inside photo.
They say lockdown is like running in circles, but we’re not running anywhere.
We’re waiting for the next parcel to be delivered, and eating cake.