by JUDE AQUILINA
Below the hummock
patchwork fields
held together
with barbed wire stitches.
Wind riffles green stalks
in watery waves
like crushed velvet curtains
closing at a country hall.
The road winds down
between green paddocks
like spilt black treacle
on a seersucker tablecloth.
Clouds amble along
like lost sheep
gently herded
by a blue-heeler of breeze.
Two windmills
chat over a fence
like tall old ladies
flicking flies, fanning faces.
The air is heavy
with sheep dung and clover –
springtime’s perfume rising warmly
from a cleavage of hills.
– Yorke Peninsula, Spencer Gulf, SA