Here I am, a not old woman in a dry month,
Browsing #auspol on Twitter, waiting for rain.
I was neither at the protest marches,
Nor raised my voice at change.org.
Nor knee deep in the Beeliar Wetlands
Waving my placard, quelled.
My house is a temporary one
And the owner’s taste is everywhere.
A long term resident of Cooma.
Fond of cruises, no love for cities.
The crows bark at dusk on the roof overhead;
Dust and petrichor, asphalt and pine.
Verna does the bookings, dispenses advice.
Growses over dinner , eager for her mending.
I, young at heart,
A fresh eye in provincial spaces.
No axe to grind, no agenda.
Only the cool summer evening and the scent of petrichor.
Occupy my thoughts.