Gnarled branches cut the sky;
Banksia against blue,
Tossing leaves like confetti
Onto neat streets with houses
That people call home.
Gray cat sidles
Round the corner
Brick, fur, whiskers.
While placidly, the world-weary wind
Meanders through green gardens
Well-kept, sun swept,
And dilly-dallies down driveways
Gritty and brown.
Upon the sun-speckled lawn,
Cat does cat things -
Cleaning, basking, stretching,
Hunting.
The chirrup of a bird,
Loud and clear;
It hops onto mown grass,
Cold soil, and, underneath, worms.
Smokey pounces.















