Having just returned from ten days in Darwin, I am struggling to adapt to the climate shock. Tasmanians are used to the four seasons and we enjoy the positive in each of them. Not long before my recent sojourn, I took Poppy for her morning walk into the Blythe Conservation Area that adjoins our property. There is no need to consult the BOM website to know the temperature has dipped into the minus, the frozen birdbaths are evident enough.
Risking frostbite to my digits, I transformed my thermal mittens to fingerless gloves (an ingenious design purchased at Cradle Mountain some years ago). Crossing the paddock, it seemed the forest was on fire with the trees reflecting the glow of early sunlight.
To the north, an aircraft’s vapour trail draws a line across the pale blue sky.
Looking back, the frost is heavy on our house roof
and the neighbour’s horses are rugged up against the cold.
Once into the forest, brushfires of rising sun create autumnal hues
and someone is patiently waiting for me to catch up.
Further into the woodland, I have stumbled into paradise,
even Poppy takes a moment to appreciate the spectacle.
We may have trespassed into sacred sulphur-crested cockatoo territory at the end of the trail, the ear-piercing screeches from on high warned others of our presence.
Retracing our steps, highlights from ascending Sol lingered
and the frosty paddocks would soon warm to the glow.
Reclaimed garden edging and fallen leaves hold onto the frost
but the daffodils are promise of the coming spring.