A Wigwam for a Goose's Bridle

Driving

This all too familiar road

But today it smells different

Today it smells like freedom

Window down

Breeze playing with tendrils of hair

Music blaring 

Too loud – I should know better

Beat reverberates the side mirror

So Sydney shakes as I leave it behind

Metaphorically shaking the dust off my shoes

Would anyone else understand how it can smell different today?

The shape of that cloud

Alone amidst the blue

Pure white on top

Deep purple below

And the moon

Missing the bottom left third

As though the artist took an eraser

And smudged it off the page

Perhaps he intended to return 

And draw it back in again

Perfect the circle

Did he get distracted?

Sunlight filters through autumn leaves

On trees that flank the route

Like a guard of honour 

The golden glisten belies change

Change without regret

And I’m driving

Singing

Tapping crimson nails on the steering wheel 

And the gear stick,

In time with the beat,

Searching for words

Searching for understanding

And that’s when I realise this is a glimmer

I keep driving

Away from so many things

But towards so many more

And as I drive

I collect the glimmers

The bass drop

The lyrical perfection

The wind in my hair

That cloud over there

The way I am driving straight at the moon

(Still part erased)

And somehow not getting any closer

Light reflecting off distant hills

The purr of the Maserati that overtakes me

A sun shower

And then petrichor

The lake, an expanse of water

Where I usually see cows grazing.

I make the effort to pull into the lookout

Capture the moment

Appreciate this burgeoning beacon of hope

That wells within