June
The last rose is picked.
The vase with the single rose,
pink petal colours
has shed its petals on my
table, in a winter’s death.
May
At last the rains fall.
The dust in my pony’s yard
quelled and grass springs up,
at last the drought is broken
by heavy, May, autumn rains.
April
No rain yet, tanks low.
Climate change is beginning
to affect seasons
and predictability
of defined, certain seasons.
March
Fire season dragging
on and on, until I lapse
into lazy mode
that a bushfire will not come
this way and burn our snug home.
February
Smoke on horizon,
radio tuned to updates,
a distance grass fire
down wind of me, to the south.
Let’s hope, no wind changes come.
January
Resting at the beach.
Tanning my white skin to crisp.
Sand between my toes.
Sand down my bikini top,
washing it away in waves.
December
Christmas rains, fills tanks
one last time, before the heat
sets in and the dust.
Flies and mosquitos appear
in great, rapid bombardments.
November
Burning off ending,
ready for the fire season.
If we smell the smoke
we now dread it’s coming forth
like the tiger snake sightings.
October
I smell it, I know!
Spring hath arrived suddenly,
with buds pushing up
in the fruit trees and the vines.
O’ awake and glorious!
September
Winter continues
no spring yet felt from senses
or tangibly seen.
Winter continues, spring where?
Rain, fog, chills and dead leaves strewn.
