Languid fog clung to the valley like a sleepy child to a mother’s breast,
as if keeping it’s eyes shut could stave off the inevitable,
hold this perfect wet moment eternally
the valley too wished for time to standstill
trees proudly took up their posts,
confident branches reached like bold protective arms,
eyes turned downward to evade morning sun
black cockatoos draw syrupy slow circles against the green and grey light
their insistent cries a piercing warning above the morning rainforest chatter
I still hear them when they’re long gone
a bittersweet reminder
I cannot hold back the day
