where the llama sleeps

Frog Whispers and a Chorus of Crickets

Hear that?

Silence… such profound silence I hold my breath

lest I break the spell…

First coffee, on the sunstruck veranda

dappled light as cascading sun trickled through tangled vines…

… below me, on overgrown slopes, chickens ranged far and wide

a pure white peacock drifted gracefully by followed closely

by two fat brown hens…

… a white llama grazed on juicy grass, eyeing me

in a friendly way as he passed

in the treetops  crow and kookaburra cackled and laughed

at jokes only they knew…

Watching as the sun slid behind olive-green tree-tops

sky a still pale backdrop behind the verdant canopy

roosters strutted, raising their voices to the vault of heaven

– and I stood in awed silence before a shrine to Mother Earth….

Darkness crept in, in slow moving increments

crows and kookaburras chortle sporadically

silence prevailing between echoes…

– eyes closed for a meditative moment

and I smiled…

such earthy treasures soothed my soul;

A faint blush softly crimsoned the underbellies

of streaky grey clouds, quickly fading to wispy shades of apricot

Venus greeted me as the sky paled blue to grey

shadows clinging deep and dark to the heavy treeline…

… such profound silence I forgot to  breathe

suddenly expelling air in a shuddering sigh

of quiet contentment;

The unruffled silence deepened –

frog whispers … chorus of crickets

and the homely popping of wood

as flames danced merrily in the fireplace…

I ate my supper there, sitting on the step

in front of the fireplace

homemade soup…

… I ate it straight from the saucepan

savoring every mouthful;

Hear that?

Silence… such profound silence I hold my breath

lest I break the spell…

*

First Night

I made a bed in front of the fire

so I could lose myself in the toasty warm  marmalade glow

wrapped in warmth eyes grew heavy

and I dozed…

Unfamiliar sounds filtered in from the darkness

beyond the windows… took me a sleepy moment

to realize, a horse, snorting noisily

stamping a hoof on the soft ground-

– and though I dragged myself from my fire-warm nest

to peer out into the inky blackness

I saw nothing;

how still it was… how dark

and so blessedly quiet

there were no cars

no late night train

no dogs barking in tandem echo

a few drowsy crickets and the sighing breeze

and me.

First Morning

Kookaburras and Roosters

A lone kookaburra greeted me at 6:45 am

when I ventured from the morning fire

to greet the day beyond the picture window…

pastel sunrise simmered softly

glowing through latticelike branches

a renegade breeze rained leaves

in billowing swirl

skimming across the scuffed wooden floor…

Winter chill swept across my face

as I bid the kookaburra good morning;

Whipbirds echoed

in the still morning

woodsmoke and bush essences mingling

with drifts of nag champa…

… Kooka is a constant companion

watching me as I spill thoughts onto the page

from time to time he swoops to the slanting ground

rummaging through long grass and weeds

iridescent smudges on each wing

bestows color to his many specks and flecks

of off-white and brown

a smattering of greys add charm

to his dapper appearance…

A kingfisher joins  Kooka and I-

– a little timid he sits at the far end of the veranda

watching us…

… he outshone Kooka in hues of vivid blue

fading to deep chromatic shades…

two roosters continued to sound-off

– each one crowing with crested pride

from opposite corners of the meadow

… occasionally brown-horse snuffs the ground

blowing nosily through his big soft nose

content to browse on lush nibbles

crowding the creek’s edge.

Kookaburra on the back veranda

rooster bragging at the door

crows calling from sunlit branches

not wanting to be ignored

winter blossoms bright in treetops

in shades of fuchsia flushed…

I feel my soul let go, surrendering

to Nature’s trust….

*

Midday Meditation

Sun-sitting

– wintersun a warm embrace

eyes close as thoughts hover

in soft and tender smiles…

… breasts rise and fall in a sigh

as tranquil ambience infuses the moment

twitter-chitter of unknown birds

soughing breeze, so gentle it brushes my face

in a hushed whisper…

Somewhere not too far away

a crow repeats his 3-ark refrain

ark ark ark… ark ark arrrk

I almost fell asleep-

– but ravenous clouds swallowed the sun whole

stealing my puddled warmth…

… is that what he is doing, that crow – calling in the rain?

Still with that rhythmic 3-ark refrain…

The breeze graduated to Boisterous Wind

heady with bush scents, it scurried fallen leaves

across the veranda floor

settled momentarily

then raced through the tree-tops

all helter-skelter…

12:10 pm… the day grew dark

shadows clung to tree trunks and polished wood alike

the wind pushed open doors  closed

chasing itself

through tossing tree- canopy

– darker still for midday

birds fell to silence

except for a rogue rooster

crowing at his own echo…

… a smattering of rain fell, the darkness persisting…

… beclouded by layers of grey

the day still held a measure of tranquil beauty

–  varying leaves overlaid in a mantle of greenery

swirled in lively game with the wind…

…  from time to time a pipe wind-chime

gonged with tingling resonance

and still that cocky rooster chortled

at his echo, tossed back by the wind…

*

Second Morning

Whip-birds and mist tickle through the canopy of trees

morning overlaid in damp shades of grey

leafy treetops washed fresh by rain add a profusion

of green to the day…

Seems quieter, after the rainy night

kookaburra visits, in waterlogged flight

the farm animals hushed and not in a rush

to leave the cover of their night pen

even the crow a distant echo … ark ark ark…

… so quiet I hear each individual raindrop

dripping off sodden leaves…

The early morning dimmed… lit by a twilight rain-glow…

… and down it came, clattering on tin roof

splattering on a million leaves

puddle-ing on the drenched earth

rivulets form as water makes its merry way

downhill, through weeds and herbs… across dirt tracks

and into the creek…

nature speaks her gratitude;

The rain fell in a silken grey curtain

hazing the treeline and hills beyond…

… the sky a vast expanse of startling white

interspersed with layers of ashy grey

the land took on a deeper hue… bark stained dark

and leaves in breathless array of green to jade…

… thought inducing weather, reflection in each drop of rain-

– other rain-days, different but the same

– gumboots in puddles

-running hand in hand for cover

– kisses from wet lips that tasted of love and coffee…

Such memories tumble in freefall, and having no control

of this deluge of rain-induced reflection, I let

the memories fall

surrendering to the mood of day drenched in grey.

Of Rain and Roosters and Nature’s Song

It had been an indoors kind of day

sojourns on the veranda to watch the rain

a few hens ventured out to inspect the sodden ground

– mist and rain creating echoes of sound…

… I drifted through the hours, content to float in dreams

of yesterdays and tomorrows and might-have-beens

happy to listen to Nature’s song

knowing in my soul this is where I belong…

As darkness enveloped my world

I sat by the fireside, watching as the flames danced

rain fell and from time to time

I heard the snuffle of llama bedded down nearby…

… I almost cried

with contentedness and the thought of leaving

on the morrow…

It took an empty woodbox to send me to bed, but still

I could not sleep… thoughts tumbled in on top of each other

how could I make this a lifestyle, not just a fond memory?

*

Morning dawned to the melody of rain and roosters

the sun briefly shone through the rain,

adding a glorious rain-glow to the start of day…

… soon I would have to go away

retracing my steps to where I belong-

– but in truth, I belong here

or someplace just like it…

surrounded by rain and roosters and nature’s song;

*

As I was transported back to ‘reality’

I fancied that I heard

the wind chime say goodbye to me.

*

day 6.jpg

Whipbirds in Morning Mist

I feel it so keenly, now I am back from the silence of my rainforest retreat… that unseen pressure of suburban living spaces… pressing in on all four sides.

Horizon close and confining hovers just beyond rooftops and low mountains.

No concept of distance here, everything huddled close-at-hand… no open spaces that lure the soul’s eyes to linger in faraway gaze…

How blessed, at least, to dwell near those low mountains floating in winter mist beyond the rooftops… richly wooded in verdant layers of green… I hear the catbird call out in the still morning… the whipbirds bell-like echo clear and musical in the cold air.

A timid female bush turkey wanders across the lawn, looking for tidbits;

they have adapted to sharing space, roaming the neighborhood, wandering down to the creek… roosting in trees at night…

– they have adapted

why can’t I?

Somewhere a dog barks… a power drill grinds into wood…

Sun and mist and remnant rain cloud

play musical chairs with the morning

a magpie warbles in such honeyed tones I pause in my reflection

to listen to his sweet melody.

*

Yes, I feel that unseen pressure of suburban living spaces

pressing in on all four sides…

Still,  how blessed I am to share that space with catbirds and whipbirds

and mist on winter mornings.

*

But I will always remember the silence of that rainforest retreat

where the beauty of Nature is complete.

*

Sharon

2015

*

These thoughts and photographs were written and taken

of my stay at the Rainforest Organic Farmhouse

surrounded by stunning rainforest, bushland

and an abundance of wildlife;

My short stay there soothed my soul and fed my spirit

and I was very reluctant to leave.

Host and owner Janine is a lovely warm woman who has created a place of comfort and welcome, peace and tranquility.

This little book is in appreciation.

*

Sharon Lee Goodhand June 2015

sheleeme@y7mail.com

A Dribble is Half a Drabble

A “Dribble” is half a “Drabble”… and a Drabble is 100 words… see Wikipedia for full explanation.

The “dribble” (also known as the “minisaga,” 50 words)

The “drabble” (also known as “microfiction,” 100 words)

Metaphysical Dantesque

Created by Sharonlee Goodhand Imageweaver

Much I marvelled the wordsworthian dantean
I crave the mystical, magnificent metaphysical
In there stepped a supernal dystopianite
But only laughed the poet benthamite
Suddenly, I heard some sound horrifying
All my soul within me personifying
Back into my memories intimidating
Take thy tragic from out my heart!

Much I pondered this mythical textualist
That sorrow propagated such sorrow
‘It’s that poignancy,’ I muttered
My mind always strays to shadings, true
Remembering many daliesque, elvish hues wherein
The catastrophic contrition crying
And the profundity often decrying
I crave the melancholy, mozartian mischievousness
While I pondered, things fantastical and mystifying.
*


Sharonlee Goodhand Imageweaver 2021

Created by Sharonlee Goodhand Imageweaver

Below I shared the explanations behind my word usage and inspiration-

Metaphysical Poetry: highly intellectualized poetry marked by bold and ingenious conceits, incongruous imagery, complexity and subtlety of thought, frequent use of paradox, and often by deliberate harshness or rigidity of expression.

Dystopias are societies in cataclysmic decline, with characters who battle environmental ruin, technological control, and government oppression. 
A dystopianite, therefore, is a person belonging to such a society.

adjective

• relating to or consistent with the philosophical system of utilitarianism proposed by the English philosopher and jurist Jeremy Bentham.

“the Benthamite calculus of pains and pleasures”

noun

• a person who supports the philosophical system of utilitarianism proposed by the English philosopher and jurist Jeremy Bentham.

“for the Benthamite a natural right was both false and meaningless”

Bentham’s greatest happiness principle is the principle of utility, or “greatest happiness principle,” which forms the cornerstone of all Bentham’s thought. … His principle of utility regards good as that which produces the greatest amount of pleasure and the minimum amount of pain and evil as that which produces the most pain without the pleasure