The Gully

As the birds are chirping,
The rough bark scratches my arm,
I hear the dried leaves crunch under the pressure of my body,
As I walk down the path to the running water.

My head raises to see a cockatoo fly high like a spy on a mission,
Earthy tones fill the air as I reach the iceberg-like water,
The smooth, round rock lays by the creek,
As I take a well-earned rest. 

The trees whisper to me telling all the stories of the past,
The people who were here before me,
The critters that crawled across their bark,
The vines that reached the sun,
And the gully that evolved.