The nature writer explains
why the blackbirds have disappeared
and ceased their comforting calls.
They are tucked in the hedges,
growing new flying feathers
now that the young have fledged.
why the blackbirds have disappeared
and ceased their comforting calls.
They are tucked in the hedges,
growing new flying feathers
now that the young have fledged.
© Tim Dwyer
Land-bound for much too long
we board in our bubble, separate
from others in our distanced rows,
breathe only our own
specially filtered air,
head to the Outback,
fly over Ayers Rock – Uluru
its indigenous name,
not that it cares.
It will outlast our ownership
as we fly in the airship
we see the bleached bones
of the Great Barrier Reef,
warming.
The pilot descends to a lower altitude
so we can see the greenery, the falls,
circles back to the bridge, bowing,
the harbor and its sails, the opera
house silenced as we de-bug,
clear our throats, overcome
with beauty, we land, vowing
to begin afresh, our duty
to arise again, repay our carbon offsets.
