More Garden Poetry

Back to last summer's recurring theme.

Clearing Blackberry in Spring
The anise odour of wild fennel
is wafting over the edge of the
veranda from the garden below.
Today we slashed back blackberry
and honeysuckle until we could
again walk around the cabbage tree,
if only for a few short months.
Your fingers have been attacked
by thorns and I have forgotten
to wear long sleeves so the skin
on my arms is raised red by the
Wandering Dew.

We are sitting now looking East
to the mountains as they turn
to shadow. I am swinging in the
hammock and you are sprawled
beneath the open bedroom window.
Our sunburned faces are weary
but content as we sip Pinot Gris
and reflect on a job well done.

We can even kid ourselves for
a moment longer that the onion weed
will not flower, that no mice will
feast on native berries and that
the cat didn’t just kill the fantail
that was nesting in the courtyard.
Below us the Vogeltown Kaka are
chasing each other in lazy circles
over the golf course and for a few
still moments their screeches are
the only sound we can hear.