Gembrook at dusk

Our friend Miriam Dale had a few days writer’s retreat in the cabin, and she shared this poem that she wrote during her stay with us.

I set out this evening,
Determined not to end this day
Without once leaving ten-square-meterage of my little cabin
And adjacent composting-loo-and-bush-shower-block.
Even a retreat can feel a little smothering, if you never leave the house.

I put on sneakers and overshirt:
The nice one my Dad found in an op-shop that was,
In the end, too small for him.
Down the slope I set out, pondering ferns
And the existence of snakes
(Stomp, Stomp! When you walk, city girl),
And the way the sun glints on the trees.

I pause to watch a butterfly – no, two! –
Flitting playfully towards me,
A game or a courtship or a dance of delight,
They come closer, closer and closer, straight towards me,
Till I have to blink at their nearness to my face.
I open my eyes and they’re gone,
But then back again,
Dancing over my shoulder,
Away and back, away and back,
Including me in their delighted,
Delightful, dance, until -
Just like that -
The dance is done, and they flit off.
One heads off on its way, one to pause
On an open flower, though he, (he?) too, departs
When I approach.

I keep exploring, finding wombat scat, an eager tick,
And spikey chestnut husks.

When I’ve walked, a little breathless,
Back up the slope to my cabin, the field of
Dandelions out the front have
Shut up shop, for the day,
And the sun is gone,
Over the hill.

Miriam Dale, January 2022