The days seem longer all of a sudden
now that August’s here
and inventions become realities
Riding between Wedderburn
and Hills Creek we’re on top
of the world, my young friend Kila
and I, the clouds like white drapery
spilling down the mountains,
and the sun’s like acclamation
strobing the downs. And the angels
in their white dresses
kick their bangled heels
and dabble their feet
in the ever blue blue.
It seems that the purer
the air the greater one’s ardour.
We stop and listen for the songs
of air and water and I swear
I heard the rapt sounds
of angels singing, not of Paradise lost
but Paradise now.
[Image: Tony Bridge]