Sitting on the verandah in the late afternoon after the day’s work is done. Relaxing, drinking tea, reading books, watching and listening to birds.
Budding deciduous trees sprinkled with emergent new leaves of every shade of green.
The assertive confidence of a pair of Grey Shrike Thrushes as they stand next to me while I remove a stump. Alert, heads cocked to one side, closely monitoring what the next spade full of soil will turn over.
Bees by the dozen on the tall lilac coloured columns of flower laden Rosemary branches.
The quiet and gentle breeze creating a shimmering in the Swamp Gum canopy along the creek as sunlight reflects off ever tousled, shiny grey green eucalyptus leaves.
The trees, the trees are prophesy Their collective memory grand equips the trees to well foresee beyond the reign of man
In forests or in parks
or standing on their own
if trees of the world
could speak as one
I know what they’d say
before they are gone
For happiness, health and wealth
For worthwhile survival
Save the trees to save yourself
re-wilding equates with revival