Bush Walk: A Prose Poem
I stand on the track, alone. The clear silence of the bush is etched with currawong calls, creaking branches and the distant rumble of a tractor. A kookaburra swoops past, wings whirring as it speeds away to warn the kangaroos. Humans! Across the gully, its raucous call is a long, hiccupping warble, and then the thumps of kangaroos reach me.