Outgunning
the sun
on our
humming machine
we ride
chasing the
last feeble fingers of light.
The empty
landscape is full –
furry cows
are beads of jet
on panels of
green velvet;
coarse-weave
linen
swathes
fields
in folds
of brown;
shrill
screeching of galahs
punctuates
the clarity
of blue;
golden waves
of wattle waft
and wash us
in heady
scent;
stegosaurus
mountain ranges studded
with spines
of
silhouetted trees;
craggy cliffs
carved roughly
in relief
against
the silken
smoothness of the sky;
earthy tang
of soil dug
and grass
cut.
Flying along
we unwrap
thin
slices
of
other
lives
that sustain
our secret
hoard of memories
enough
to last
till…
next time…
(Cassy)
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