Lake Joondalup

This is the beauty of a summer evening when the sun has slipped behind the ocean, dragging the final shadow behind it. People and dogs walk together as they make their way home to watch television behind locked doors.  For the hours of darkness, they are prisoners in their own castles.
    The park is quiet for a time, before the gargantuan moon casts its own grey light. As if waiting for the curtain to rise, the  trees announce the end of day with the sounds of birds, a hundred tribes, each with its own unique language.

              What do you speak of
              as you call from tree to tree
              or do you mock me?

              You, Kookaburra,
              am I really such a joke
              here upon the ground?

This is my time to cast aside my fears, my doubts and my shoes. I feel the ground beneath my feet and step with care around those yellow flowers that mark my way.
Kangaroo has made his bed but tomorrow, so few will see the delicate fall of the grass beside that log.  City dwellers have never learned to see, nor to understand that this is the real world.

              Takes more than my eyes
              to see this world I live in
              and those who share it.

A gap in the trees creates a window through which I see the satin waters of the lake.  The silver highway draws me eyes to the bright lunar globe, where even man has dared to tread.  And on the bright water of the lake I watch the water-fowl, graceful as they present their silent ballet. I will sit here at the water's edge and smell the scent of tree and flower and listen to the creatures that live around me.  For just a while, I imagine that this is my home, and I am content to know the meaning of peace.

              Sing for me crickets
              for as I hear your chirping
              I know all is well. 

              Black as night the crow
              will call to his mate
              on the far side of the lake

Night time is a time of magic, of grateful understanding, a time when I hold apart the two worlds in which I must live.  Somewhere in a distant street, a siren cries its urgent song and I am glad to sit here, in silence.