Through my kitchen window

I stand at the sink
Careworn, well used
Washing dishes
Regarding the view
The coloured glass
Refracts the light
Bends the image
Rendering it more beautiful

 

It is not a majestic view
Rather, domestic
Familiar
Of rhododendrons ebullient with colour
A wooden fence, a brick path
A line of eucalypts
Bark hanging, caught
On its fall to the ground

 

Across the gravel lane
A verdant hill climbs
Grazed by cows
Traversed by children and dogs
Laughter
Squeals of delight
A soundtrack
Of birdsong and the whisper of trees

 

Later, I stand at the sink once more
Battered, discoloured
Broken, it lies at my feet
No window remains
Nor the view
Blackened trunks
Bare earth
Ash obscures the path

 

The familiar destroyed
In its place
Charred remains
Unearthly silence
A police car, its occupants
Here to search for the dead
In this alien landscape
Through my kitchen window

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