in lovely refrain
a choir of currawongs chorus
their melodic tune

Two friends circle the air
three moons from Monto;
friendship is measured in wingspan
in the joined eye of spiraling hunters.

Dusk before the day breaks,
loud cloud red
overlooks the dark steer
as it stamps its metallic breast
along the great snake’s back;
its voice of tumbling rock
in a throat made for slaughter.

Hearing this and the language of insects
Peewees, Currawongs, Crows  hop  clear,  but
the wedge-tail’s majesty mistimes its ascent
and the impervious steer is unyielding.

Now one friend circles the field.

The dark steer moves on
hungry for interpreting silence.

Two moons reach into night
and for a third up near Monto.


MChallis © 2015

Feeding my soul is such a relief, no longer relying on the kindness of strangers.

My soul is a little greedy, and wants more.

But starts to relax, just what it has always wanted.

They controlled me through personal tension, I was a trained horse with a bridle.

But I bridled at their control, but found it almost impossible to slough off.

Until I started to listen to my soul, it's true, a quiet voice amid the bustle. Almost the voice of a child, who loves to be listened to.

Fortunately whatever we feed grows, and this is also true of my soul, who hopes to grow fat and strong and safe.

My soul feels like dancing and likes to dance to Alpenzusjes, click https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DI1x7yVSv0c&list=RDMMDI1x7yVSv0c&start_radio=1. How wonderful are the Alpine Sausages.

And not content to feeding my soul, every morning I feed our Currawongs and Ravens. Who like us have a left and right brain, and a frontal cortex, and so they learn, remember, and socialise, just like us.

And every morning these song birds show their delight by singing, quite loudly, at my feet.

My soul and my song birds are all one - one dances and the other sings.