Tag Archives: trees

Arboreal lullaby


listen carefully
you just might
hear her song

sit down
nestle your back
against her rough integument
you might need to
wriggle a little
get comfortable

listen, can you hear it?

rest your palms
on the cool moss
trace the shape of
a fallen leaf
dig your fingers
into pudding earth

listen, can you hear it?

close your eyes
lest the glitter,
filtered light
distracts you
picking out
its intimate vistas

listen, can you hear it?

by now you’ll be damp
as your clothes
attempt to meld
with the damp humus
on which you sit

listen, can you hear it?

breathe deeply
inspire its musky scent
and know if you
sit there long enough
you’ll decay alongside her

listen, surely can you hear it now?

feel its reverberations
her epochal song
of concentric life
a ringing record
of persistence
arboreal hope


hear her song
her arboreal lullaby

Epicormic growth

It is three years today since my life, and those of so many others, changed forever.  Anniversaries provide us with an opportunity to reflect. We remember the 173 people who lost their lives. We remember the homes, livelihoods, communities and ecosystems lost or irrevocably changed. We remember our anguish, uncertainty, fear and grief. We remember the love and support of people both local and distant. We remember the heroes both sung and unsung. We acknowledge that there will always be a ‘before’ and an ‘after’. We reflect on our lives following the fires. Our journeys, if you will.

Look at the trees. They are recovering but they are not unscathed. The land is healing: at its own pace, in its own time.

Today is a gentle day. It is cool. The sky is overcast. The wind temperate. A good day for growth and healing.


Epicormic growth

From a distance
we appear unchanged
as the timeless hills
shaped over millennia
impervious to disaster

Travel nearer
witness our charred trunks
framing new vistas
silent eucalypts
we stand testament

Near death
we hold our losses close
our stasis perilous (if we stand still…)
survival uncertain
without leaves we cannot capture light

Tiny silver-green shoots
erupt from blackened bark
our epicormic growth
unfurls impatiently

Soon the burnt land
is greenly festooned
our striving growth
a parody of what is familiar

With time
our branches strengthen
we approximate normality
those silver sentinels seen from afar
our reminder
our loss

Our eternal optimism
our growth, our saviour