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Byron

By Stephen Thomas 

 

Wind rushes through the car
Shadows carpet the road
A narrow line of jagged grey
Curls through the trees
 
A house nestled in the slopes
The world out of sight
A game of cricket
Played barefoot on a swath of grass
 
Sitting on a tattered towel
Eating fish and chips
Blue and white abounds
Coursing into seven miles of sand
 
Walking alone on an empty shore
Soaking in the light
Relentless water churns
Kites flash over waves
 
A red sky melts over the hinterland
The sizzle of the bbq
Black dogs sniff around the table
Frogs in chorus down by the creek
 
Warm faces half lit
Silver specks above
Silence takes hold
Until birds at daybreak

 

This poem was inspired by a visit, for the first time, to Byron Bay. I live in the crowded confines of Hong Kong, one of the world’s most dynamic and densely populated cities. Visiting Byron and staying with my brother and his family at Possum Creek is about as far removed from Hong Kong as you can get in terms of landscape, space and pace. The countryside is tranquil, the beaches are wild and open, and there is a grace to be found in the simplicity of sitting outside on a warm summer evening.

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