Wisp O’ the Wind

When not a leaf is moving,
And the day is sticky and thick,
The heat's so dense it’s hard to breathe,
As one contemplates lazing round near in the nick…

No bird is stirring though the midst of the day,
’Tis too dry and hot even for them,
The flys though are out in force to drive most mad,
However ’tis not a horror story from which this stems…

’Tis but a normal late spring/summers day in the outback,
The sort of midday that blisters and burns,
Australia into being the Sunburnt Country,
When it's beaches and wintertime for which one yearns.

Thus when not a moment too late a glimpse of a breeze,
Bring’s a micro glimmer of reliefs hope to all,
One revels in it’s gentle kiss guiding the gum leaves to dance,
From ground to tip it illusions a slight sway to the call.

Though soon the breeze light strengthens boldly,
Lifting the top layer of dust in it’s path,
As it strengthens to blow a rage through the bush,
Leaving near no debris in it’s aftermath…

And yet as it roars through the scrub,
One can’t help but notice how much it sounds like the ocean,
Rising and crashing like waves on beach rocks,
Although it be leaves here in motion.