A familiar feeling

A warm glow

The tug of the current

The tickle of the wind

The curve of a leaf

The future peels away with the patchy bark of the ancient gums 

Hours pass


The creek runs slower, greyer, dull and measured, a droning metronome

The air sits, waiting for something it remembers

Tears don't fall

The sun is a smudge in the blackening sky

Those who are left watch the future slip with the past

Earth is a memory

Until there's no-one to remember