June 2021.

O cold the black-frost night.

The walls draw in to the warmth

and the old roof cracks its joints;

the slung kettle

hisses a leak on the fire.

Hardly to be believed that summer will turn up again some day

in a wave of rambler-roses,

thrust it’s hot face in here to tell another yarn-

a story old Dan can spin into a blanket against the winter.

Seventy years of stories he clutches round his bones.

Seventy years are hived in him like old honey. Judith Wright

Beyond The Seen.
This entry was posted in New Paintings.