The best apple is on the highest bough.
the buds fallen & fruit forming
copper-gold jewels a child’s round cheeks
sah-lay, we call them, the sound of new seasons
two notes plucked from a song played on strings
they came to us: Chinese fruit to a Chinese family
from wartime sailboats, Captain Blueberry
guarding cuttings in his metal chest
my parents planted it like Jack’s magic seed
in time, the fruit came like doubloons
* * *
we explain they are apple-
pears, I explain them like I explain myself:
like one thing, like another
but neither, you must taste it to know it
as I leave for university
the sah-lay skins are yellow and green
mother & I find two ripe small imploded moons
we peel & cut the flesh honied & crisp
the translucence is still
on my tongue when I say goodbye:
mother’s efficient hug, brisk, her
small frame bony under my arms
father’s soft belly & tilted head
embrace, his eyes water
reaching high altitude, I recline
pocket of impossible life amidst thousands
of miles of empty air and light
dwarf nuggets hidden in
my body turn fibrous, dissolve.
My Sitting Down Place
My Sitting Down Place by Gail Kay, Proserpine, QLD
I go down to the creek
Where the water gurgles
As it hurries along
Over the shining sand and pebbles
To its destiny
With the sea.
Flits and moves
Across the water, over the creek bank,
And the birds sing happily
To the accompaniment
Of insects and crickets.
I sit in silence as I soak it all into my soul.
From the water
To my heart.
Whatever life brings me I now can face
Because of this,
My sitting down place!
If I were to choose the sights, the sounds, the fragrances I most would want to see and hear and smell–among all the delights of the open world–on a final day on earth, I think I would choose these: the clear, ethereal song of a white-throated sparrow singing at dawn; the smell of pine trees in the heat of the noon; the lonely calling of Canada geese; the sight of a dragon-fly glinting in the sunshine; the voice of a hermit thrush far in a darkening woods at evening; and–most spiritual and moving of sights–the white cathedral of a cumulus cloud floating serenely in the blue of the sky.
Edwin Way Teale, “On a Final Day”
– Angela Thirkell
Children are the sweet peas in the garden of life!
― W.B. Yeats
“You have lost your reason and taken the wrong path. You have taken lies for truth, and hideousness for beauty. You would marvel if, owing to strange events of some sorts, frogs and lizards suddenly grew on apple and orange trees instead of fruit, or if roses began to smell like a sweating horse; so I marvel at you who exchange heaven for earth. I don’t want to understand you.”
― Anton Chekhov
“It seems that most the world is driven by the eye, right? They design cities to look great but they always sound horrible. They design telephones to look great, but they sound horrible. I think it was about time that the other senses were celebrated.”
– Miriam Beard
foto – butterfly house bonville nsw jan 2013
Butterfly and me
I extended my hands,
To chase, touch the butterfly.
Colours spilled on me –
As if a rainbow circled me.
I stood still in the middle,
Losing my path and senses-
This thrown off -words of solace.
As butterflies, always teach us something.
I’m still chasing my dreams- as butterflies.
Unsupported and unheard; all my actions goes vain.
Like butterflies, like rainbows – paths befuddle me.
These are true colours of life – endure it.