The Black Birds And The Bushmen

Through the bush of the Mountain, The rain has subsided, and Soft bright sunlight Peaks through silver lined clouds. The Australian Eucalypts are glistening; Light sparkles, shimmering off gum leaves. Something magical is happening. Camera in hand; I record the scene. Black birds watch, gazes piercing. Sleek black wings are powerful, Swoop and dive around, The evolution in the growth that surrounds, Whispers in the crackle of the soft wet leaves, Dark shadows, playful, in between trees. Once, there was ceremony here, rituals, Dreamtime. The ancestors hunted and lived. The black birds remain, Reborn time and again, Watching, playing, guardians to a sacred place. Spirit here is strong.