(Autumn Twilight on Badgee Hill : March 1993)

An evening of my fifty-second year
Gives me an autumn twilight:
The sun's light cool behind the western trees,
And sudden in its weakness.
I sit upon the terrace of my house
And dwell on imperfection.

Just there in the park
Across the fence a boy swings
Up and down I see him move,
Legs stretching as if to somehow reach
Some sooner length of his maturity,
In all his thirteen years.

Epiphany ? The word comes to my mind,
But why this word, why at this time ?

"Manifestation of a Divine Being"
My $9.95 dictionary explains,
But that seems wrong: it's rather more
A small resonance, a passing sense of one-ness,
Of unity with this world moving about me.

Above, a vaulted tree-cathedral of my park:
A dozen kinds of choir shrill
In their competing chorus
- rozella, Major Mitchell cockatoo,
Honey-eater, contend to rend this air in altercation.

Below the boy swings on, unknowing
Of the moment; concerned in his own fears
And hopes, and joys; and needing no thesaurus.


copyright G D Bolton 1993 - all electronic rights reserved