A day has begun, the air is heavy,
clouds, the colour of blood,
adhere to the eastern sky,
a creeping mist betrays the river.
Crows have made the treetops
their own, they mock the horses
in their paddocks, cows muster,
as if sensing a coming storm.
Crops have been gathered in,
birds hang above stubbled fields,
carried in a chill breeze, a leaf
dances a promise of autumn.
This is the heart of it, our country
laid out, as far our eyes can see,
no room here for rumour or war,
our breath, hovers like smoke.