by Hazel Hall

Prompted by ‘Evening, when the quiet
east flushes faintly at the sun’s last look’
(a painting by Tom Roberts, 1887-1888)

she often wondered why country folk
sit on their verandas like plein air art.
only sirens as trains pass by
duet of wind with apricot leaves,
a magpie’s mezzo melodies,
tin-tin-tinkle of fairy wrens,
cackle of chooks as they bore the lawn,
screeching brakes from cockatoos.

she has passed in the car and noticed them
golems gawking day after day
why would they waste their precious time
life is too short for that kind of thing
plenty of work that could be done
mowing weeding fences to mend.
show me a pair of idle hands
and I will show you an idle mind.

who’d laze gazing as gathering clouds
present a ballet of skyscape dreams
tutus painted in pastel shades
a theatre of ever-changing art
to watch light strike the golden rain tree
rooftops and sheds with brilliant fire,
cleanses the soul until it shines
as if a caress from the Divine.