Listen
my eyes are listening octaves inside the landscape echoes building earth sky each creature the shape of a passion ranged along lines that set me humming the way a voice rings metal double rainbow singing through hear it? we might be anywhere in the scale dropping from nowhere the young hawk practises arpeggios on the wind Just as the days begin to lengthen, a week of clear skies brings frost that lies all day in shady places and builds on itself night by night. Thin films of ice form on garden water pots and on the little shadowed dam to the west of the house but birds still come to bathe. Currawongs that weigh in at half a kilo and 10 gram fluffballs like fairywrens, more than ever now they all need the insulation of clean feathers. Breath-clouds halo our heads when we step outside; in the morning, the dog spins in circles, delighted, and snaps up mouthfuls of frosty grass to toss around as if it were snow. Cows lie steaming and chewing cud, bodies aligned like solar panels towards t