I trudge, tired of city life and of swallowing
bitter pills, wet and dejected up Bellevue Hill,
the harbour dull molten metal to my left,
undulating ocean to my right.
Matching my melancholy mood,
doleful clouds accumulate and coalesce
to form a leaden-hued layer above me
and the moist, glistening, red tiled
roofs of the constantly expanding suburbs.
Squalls sweep along the eastern horizon,
their dark columns a colonnade
connecting the dome of the sky to the sea.
Leaves, like flags too tired to wave
or without a cause worth unfurling for,
hang languidly in the oppressive humidity.
It feels as if all is in abeyance;
as though Time has tired of the enormity
of its task and paused to rest and recuperate.
Drizzle drifts and is caught in the net
of my hair and, as a waterspout briefly
towers off shore, I look out over
the raindrop bejewelled undergrowth,
at the damp, dark-barked and
rain-wreathed dripping trees and,
listening to the distant warbling call
of a currawong, feel, for an
overwhelming fraction of a second,
privileged, grateful and humble to have
experienced this inspirational view I see –
this minuscule moment in eternity.
© Jeremy Gadd 1997
Published FreeXpresSion (Australia) Volume VI, 3/4/1999.