Feelings at Yanchep National Park

Trees, not in any array, waited

Standing in silent symphony,

soft plush carpet of living colour

hurries toward the paper barks,

limber bent as dancers on the wind.

Silver zips, whir of wings

spinning rotors

dizzying our eyes as dragonflies,

snappy green flash by,

with drunken-on-sun-and-the wind

aeronautics.

Around us, trees, everything

our company.

The last solid bastion of a tree.

That round-shaped cracked up

earth brown tree,

home of ants and resting place

for travelers weary of limbs, restful of hearts

Ants scurry about with seeds.

Pastel green, shades of grey

Washed over

Picture framed, clouds touch the leaves

Here at Yanchep I thank the trees,

the trees and us warmed by the sun.

Enclosed in your arms

I lean into them.

Eyes deserving to be open, we touch

and tranquility closes them