When the creeks are flowing

cicadas deafen

the air is full

of gum blossom

and ripening fig fruit

When I can notice

that the forest floor is carpeted

with a mat of fallen palm

and bird call.

On mornings like this

when I fill my lungs

with earths fecundity

when I know my place

alongside those soaring branches

host to a world I know not

I know I am but a momentary

whisper

a blink

a stolen breath

a footprint on cut grass

On mornings like this

I remember

what it is to

have your world change

in the turning of a clocks hand

when the bed you lie in

no longer holds the same shape

when familiar sounds

the closing of a door

a laugh

a lovers breath

no longer find your straining ears

On mornings like this

I am glad

these forests still stand

silent amongst the barking dogs

the industry of man

and our incessant needs and wants

I am grateful for the peace

the reverberating

echoes

of animal

tree

and bird

On mornings like this