Apricot Press

In the cool gully, beneath a shady canopy
of she-oak, paperbark and lazy-leafed tree
ferns, a rivulet gently twists and turns between
water-worn, smooth boulders, as if constantly
replenished from ancient urns emptied upstream.
Sedges lean along and droop down the bank
and saturated weeds waft and wave in the
slow trickling flow - but the dappled light
filtering down is deceptive. Is that a shadow
where the slowly seeping water pools and
meets that mossy rock, spotlighted in a
transitory shaft of light? It moves and
the shadow shimmers but shadows shouldn’t
move or is it simply poor eyesight?
It is a snake: partially coiled but long
and slender. Bending and blending with
the almost motionless water’s edge,
it stealthily slides into deeper water,
barely causing a ripple as it gently begins
to undulate and, staring mesmerized by
its subtle, sensuous movements,
transfixed by its glossy sleek, black skin
and by glimpses of its bright red underside,
awed by the wonderful creature and with
no thought of a possible venomous bite,
I recall D.H. Lawrence’s description of 
the snake he encountered: ‘…a king in
exile, uncrowned in the underworld’.
But how could this being of beauty
be associated with Satan and sin?
Now aware of and disturbed by my
presence, head high, looking left and right,
the snake speeds downstream faster than
a letter ‘s’ could be scrawled by
a pen dancing across the page, like an
accomplished performer exiting the stage.

Within the foliage of the hedge,
birds are busy, chirping, cheeping,
living hidden lives unseen,
while safely screened from view.

The protected birds pursue insects,
while New Holland honeyeaters
warn of the presence of predators,
preventing them being preyed on in turn.

Yellow robins, finches, warblers
and a chime of blue fairy wrens,
creation’s crowning glory, preen
or suck fermenting nectar from the flowers

of a nearby red-feathered, bottle-brush tree.
It is a natural aviary, where unique birds,
in anonymity, conceive their offspring
and, sheltered from sleet, wind and heat,

feed their chicks and encourage fledglings to fly.
Do some annually frequent and renew
an affiliation with this hedge?
And when, after their brief lives are spent,

they fall, without rancour, to the ground,
empty nests the only evidence of their existence,
their deaths, perceived as insignificant
sacrifices, are accepted by a neutral universe.

Photo credit: Kendy Parker