Walking alone

The days are getting colder now

And the sun rises further

To the north. I still go out:

wrapped up warm in wool and down

Yet cloaked in thought; I leave my feet

To find the way. The cold air

Tickles the back of my throat

And chills my empty, unclasped hands;

Above me, lorikeets and magpies

And the raucous wattlebird

Sing and greet me like nothing

Has happened; nothing has changed.

But there beside the hawthorn bushes

With their berries as red as blood

A shadow lingers, still it waits

For the other to catch up.