Mordialloc Winter Rhythm
Wattlebirds feast on
wake me from winter sleep
Morning winter fog
a row of ghostly gum trees
signpost railway station
Seagulls soar skywards
tossed by winter thermals
an aerial ballet
Blackbirds and magpies trill
as warm sunlight
penetrates tea-tree bush
By late afternoon at
Mordialloc Pier fishing
Palm trees quiver
with chattering birds
as the sun sets
The full moon’s glow
suffused across a sea
now a mirror of calm
Winter has well and truly arrived in Mordialloc this week! Winter woollies the order of the day, electric blankets the order of the night! One of my students suggested being born in Scotland made me less susceptible to the cold, however after 53 years, my blood must have thinned.
Although not completely acclimatised to the extremely hot weather, I feel the cold like anyone else. This week going to work, I too huddled in the waiting room at Mordialloc Railway Station rather than brave the southerly wind sending dust and leaves skittering along the platform and snatching at scarves, coats and hats.
It may be cold outside, but this is the perfect excuse to stay inside and write! Unless, of course, I take a walk along the foreshore or Mordialloc Creek for inspiration! The sky, sea and surrounds more interesting and mercurial in winter.
Beach Park, Mordialloc
The swings creak a slow chant
joined by seagull squawks,
children’s sing-song screams.
Children clamber over the pirate ship
slipping, sliding, spewing from
all sides like the cutthroats of old.
Abandoning ship then climbing aboard
on ladders of plastic and rope
their fantasy ship anchored in a sandy sea.
Grandparents diligently move from
slide, to swing, to see-saw and back again
a day in the park serious business.
Mothers watch from afar, this daily duty
to tire the children, their conversations
interrupted to soothe, admonish, wipe a nose.
A father returns to his boyhood with delight
monitoring his offspring while steering
the child towards equipment made for two.
Naked masts and tired trawlers bob,
the sea a wavy navy ribbon unfurled,
clouds hovering bruises in a blue sky.
Children cavort beneath the foreboding blanket
bright winter clothes transforming them into
delicious Cherry Ripes, Candy Canes and lollipops.
A blustery wind has hysterical palm tree fronds
waving and the foreshore tea-tree whispering
their attention-seeking an urgent warning.
It is time to weigh anchor.
A plaintive song
echoes in university grounds.
Students hurry home
ignoring skeletal branches
of winter trees
and the bird’s lament.
The mournful echo
recalls dinosaur dynasties
amid the whirr of bicycle wheels,
footsteps and ring tones
and iPod seclusion.
A plaintive whistle announcing dusk
before full-throated celebration
As lights douse, classroom doors close.
A melodious call to rest
as shadows deepen,
and the campus empties.
Crowded trams trundle past
bathed in artificial sunlight
beneath the star embroidered sky.
Tall grey buildings reach to conquer
the ghosts of long forgotten species
the call of birded tongue
a plaintive echo.
A winter morn in Mordialloc
cloudless sky a washed-out blue
melting frost on grassy blades
glistening bubbles of dripping dew.
A magpie family carol and cavort
breakfasting from territory marked
the wattlebirds have departed
with harsh caws and hurried darts.
From grevillea to bottlebrush
my garden their summer home
feeding on nectar’s syrupy sweetness
until chilly winter makes them roam
This garden planted as a refuge,
a tiny oasis in suburbia’s dream
native flora to encourage fauna
so many creatures––some unseen
Showy parrots squeal and screech
their sunset songs a welcome delight,
but the proud magpies debutante dance
a morning joy and favourite sight.