by Earl Livings

You don’t know how much you still need
to slow down until you step along the sandy path.
Ignore the train’s whistle for the next stop, the tram
trundling past with tourists, the tyre thumps on nearby
speed bumps, the din of chatter and dog commands.
Pay attention, as if your life depends on it, so true
in these cake and circus days of screens and dollar signs.
Listen to the splash of wood ducks, the chitter of wrens
as they weave through the reeds, the squawk and screech
of birds hidden in moss-crusted scrub along the banks
or high on grey, habitat trees, the social croaks of frogs.
Watch the wattlebird dash from branch to branch, how fast
the common coot dives into the ripples around itself, how slow
the black swan bends the precise curve of its neck, how still
the dusky moorhen sits atop the flattened reed tower…

You may think you stand apart from this arena of nature
that surrounds you, suffers you. It does not make you
welcome or unwelcome. Forget you. Forget all. Be
that warmth on your skin from the afternoon sun. Be
that blue flash of fairy wren. What blesses comes
unbidden, spreads as the wake of a duck across the pond.

North Gardens Wetlands, Ballarat