The small fishing boat has pulled away from the shore. Two young women sit on the sand waiting. A dog chases the uncatchable.
It has been a hot and drowsy day, not a day for fishing and not a day for taking a walk along the bay.
The sky is grayer than the water and the tide is far out, as far as possible. The sea birds are aloft heading for their roost on Five Islands Nature Reserve off the Illawarra east coast.
A lone gull sits atop a pole waiting to launch into the light blue air.
The air is sunny and the chill wind of spring-time blows from behind. The traveller arrives at the long rural driveway and he knows he’s at home.
The dark arms of the trees form a circling overhead and the tree-tops meet and greet each other. Flowers and grass spring beneath their feet.Well-worn tracks lead out to the pasture slope and up to the white country home. The horses stand in wait at the pasture fence.
City life dilutes my blood and dulls my thinking but I get relief when I stop to hear the voice of the wind, the livestock and the birds. In the peace my memory stretches back to earlier years.
While walking in the country side I came to a pond. It is nowhere near big enough to sail a yacht upon and is probably only five feet wide and twenty feet long.
The trees gloomy and green cast a still shadow and a dragonfly skitters across the water. The frogs call all day long hoping their croak will attract a partner. The black swamp wallaby drinks and grazes where clusters of the small yellow flowers grow.
It might be humble pond but it has a unique charm and when the light penetrates all the way to the bottom you can see the teeming variety of animals and plants. Rarely do they move to another pond as they never have the inclination to escape their world.
There’s a world outside the city and that world overlooks a countryside laughing with blue sky, white clouds and green spring fields full of grass that just sits there and grows.
The green grass in the paddock slides off into the blue sky. Sensing the fence is down the flock congregates. They bleat, grunt, and snort but are not sure of their next move.
Their natural inclination is to follow a leader but being sheep they don’t have leaders they are all followers. Then suddenly movement, and as one they run out into the sun lit paddock and head up the hill.
Shadows and dips in the ground caused them to hesitate for a moment but being a prey species, they once again run off like they’re fleeing the danger of an unseen hungry predator. The sheep have escaped.
The southern tablelands were hit by a storm last night. The rain has rained all around. The trees are laden, the ground is soaked and the creek runs free.
Today the sun’s out and the clouds come rolling in. They stretch in a never-ending line towards the north.
I stand in front of the softly burning fire and I talk to myself. I’ll soon be leaving the field behind for another day. It’s like leaving a longtime friend.
I just noticed a flash of colour, bright yellow. Daffodil yellow.
These little flowers of friendship have sprung up under the protection of the silver birch trees in the area where the stream bubbles by the house.
They are so beautiful among the greenest grass that has been seen for years thriving in the constant rain and sunshine weather cycle that is prevalent at this time of the year.
The gusty winds give them energy and they dance with joy against the backdrop of the blue sky.