This watery eyed bluff before me,
. accompanies the sunrise,
. like drips of dew falling from moist leaves.
With its green back turned towards the east
. this mountain makes the most of the brisk morning breeze.
Knowing, soon, it’ll be encased in the fiery Australian summer heat.
It’s face still draped in darkness;
. a sign that this giant still sleeps.
The smoldering remnants of a bush fire
. clothes each crevice in blue shadows,
. its rock walls lightly illuminated by the dawn.
Unlike the humans below,
.this drowsy, cool mountain is in no hurry
to awaken this slow vista from its quiet yawn.
Decorated by the crowded sound of the Eastern Rosella,
. the sky above it welcomes clouds.
Some grey and some white.
Some not yet visible to the human eye.
. (The latter’s arrival only announced
. by an ominous, pink, morning sky.)
Even the laugh of Kookaburra,
. or the Galah’s collective chalkboard screech,
. fail to waken, with alarm,
. this bluff and its plateaued peak.