a violet shower cascades
from the tops of the jacarandas
the kookaburras are shaking the canopy,
breakfasting with glee
what can you say about a giggling tree
a smiling cloudless cerulean sky
and a bunch of birds
with beaks-full of cackle?
emptiness is fulsome and fabulous
and shaking with laughter
while we, on our tinder-dry mountain
sniff the whiff of early bushfires
and wish it would wet itself soon
Photo – Miriam Louisa Simons
At the beginning of this month I moved into an old (but beautifully renovated) farm cottage on Kiels Mountain, on the Sunshine Coast hinterland, Queensland, Australia. It is high enough to attract rain and mist, which are welcome visitors so far as the rainforest and its inhabitants are concerned.
And in spite of being only a few kilometers from local villages, the beach and coastal busyness, it has the feel of remoteness. It is my Cloud Mountain, and I am a happy hermit. In my morning scribblings, haiku begin to appear:
Mistiness in close –
drowning out my loneliness,
a Currawong choir.
Lost; an innocent
here, in spacious aloneness –
something Wild finds me.
Alone in the bush,
befriended by Beingness,
I stop asking why.