Out here in the bushland

my fingers stretch for miles,
protruding through the dry, dense soil.
out here in the bushland.
the gentle pull and tug of the waves, 
reaching and slipping away from the fragments and grains
all that effort just to return and try again and repeat.
out here on the soft sand beaches.
my leaves sway in the soft evening breeze,
wanting to escape and explore other lands.
out here in the bushland.
time out here is an illusion, 
out here in the soft sand beaches.
losing track of the clock face ticking, 
out here in the bushland.
slowly, slipping away from reality.
out here in the soft sand beaches.
being able to tear free, away from the strong bonds of expectation, 
out here in the bushland.