winter light water

where water is cleaned by the trees

 

the beautiful forests of the Victorian highlands

a dream home for streams

When the water freezes

I love when winter sets in and
the water element in oxygen condenses and freezes upon all that is exposed to the clear cold sky.

 

 

Where the trees shelter the earth,

the frost abates.

Where the water falls by the ancient stones

 

flowing by the ancient stone circle

what may one hear in this stream.

-

a water altar 

in the Rollright Stones- Oxfordshire.

 

cup and ring marks in Kilmartin, Scotland-

tiny sipping cups for the fairies! 

Mediterranean Blue

 

 

 

 

slinking blue soothes 

 turquoise of protection 

surrounding as a balm

the healing power of water

breathes into the cells 

 

 

Where the water flows and grows rocks into new forms.

jutting out from the yellowing grasses, 

the rocks hold the hill in its place 

where along the cracks the water follows

 

the path of least resistance

                                        

  

flowing down

down

down ever down

until it finds it still point.

there is beauty in similarities

and this was a country without fences

once.

The smoke that smears itself over everything

                                             Returning recently to Victoria,
                             The smoke from burning fires settled upon everything,
                                       Creating a kind of unease that is irksome.
                             My thoughts, prayers, and love goes out to the fire fighters
                                            And those affected by the fires.

         

                                 yesterday was one of those days in australia of late
                                 where the horizon is smudged with smoke
                                 from some far off fire
                                 
                                 and an eerie resounding feeling abounds
                                 as the heat sticks
                                 and plays game with ones mind.

                                 inescapable it is,
                                 the drying fierceness
                                 of the pulsing summer sun.

                                 in my youth, summer would come and go
                                 uneventfully, save for burnt skin
                                 and joy of late evenings under the sprinkler.

                                 now it seems to stretch itself
                                 obtusely across the longer part of
                                 the year creating dread for the likes of me and my coolth 
                                 loving kin. 

                                  © Allis Hamilton