At Smiths Lake

At Smiths Lake,
I wake to kookaburras squawking.
There’s a faint smell of back-burning,
and a warm breeze.

At Smiths Lake,
We swim in the murky blue lakes
and play tennis in the shady court.
We walk along the sand, avoiding crunchy shells.
Climbing on big rocks, home to little crabs.

At Smiths Lake,
The bright sunny sky,
forms into a starry night, clearer than the giant crashing waves at the beach.
Our whole family gathers around for a barbecue dinner,
then toasted marshmallows around the crackling fire for dessert.

Makes me feel content and safe,
Worth the long car rides 
the perfect holiday.
At Smiths Lake.