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Saturday, 13 October 2012

Calling Card

bottlebrush flower

The cold is lasting longer than usual this year. I have usually turned my heater off by now, not to be used again until April. Huge power bills notwithstanding, we continue to huddle in front of the heater while the temperature fluctuates like a faulty gauge. I keep reminding myself that the week the rain ceases and the sun unleashes its full power, we’ll all be moaning about how unbearably hot it is, or living in dread of a bushfire. At least our gardens are still green and flourishing, and the smell of smoke does not strike fear. Hooray for the mild seasons!

This week’s poem is the first of a trilogy which I will present over the next five weeks as its component poems, and then put them all together on the last week. I’ll intersperse short stories, as usual, so that those who prefer prose can still find their goodies.

Calling card
This morning I communed with a rosella
through the dusty glass of my window.
He perched on a swaying twig of bottlebrush,
seeking a companion
with the ringing call of his kind,
glowing red and orange in the sunshine.
Then he turned an eye towards me
and began bobbing and chucking like a budgie,
With gentle movement, talking and singing,
I sent him on his search with a blessing.

My friend rosella was, vividly tangible,
God’s calling card,
for I, too, had been looking for company,
responding to the song of the creator
and listening, heart open, to his words

as he blessed me on my way.

Until next week…
Claire Belberg

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