Life of a Grey-Headed Flying Fox
By Elysia Roselle W
Published 24 September 2024
High up in a tree,
Perched on a thick, gnarled branch,
Hidden by a rug of emerald leaves,
A teeny-bodied flying fox opens her eyes
To a lightning-filled dusk sky.
She nods 'good morning' to her friends
And uncurls, stretching the long greyness of her wings.
She sweeps down
To the long, swishy, malachite-coloured grass,
Swish swoosh, swish swoosh,
As the other bats glide through.
She swoops up, dodging the trunks and limbs of
Gum trees tall like the Eiffel Tower,
Before sniffing the delicious honey-smelling nectar
Of a golden flower,
Blossoming under the moon.
She clutches it, sucking from its centre.
Feeling full, she glides back to her tree
And curls back up, her head heavy,
To dream of living in a sea of nectar.