34-37 Degrees South: Easy reading version

Sunset creek
Kai Jensen
for Chloe Spear
The roadside trunks are in shadow
but the sun’s still on the treetops
with that orange last light glow;
and here’s the surf club carpark
where a few travellers and locals
linger watching the sea darken
the waves now jade green.
Beyond the land’s shadow
the sun’s still on the island,
picking out the white toothpick
of the lighthouse, the white cottages.
It’s a calm evening, yet the sea’s
busy as ever, wave crests collapsing,
so it’s restful to turn to the creek,
held aloof from the commotion
by a thick bar of sand:
a long reddish-brown pool,
it reflects the haggard trunks
of stunted tea-tree on the far side.
Four gulls hunch on the bank, then
all at once take wing above the creek mouth
which is turning mauve now
reflecting the chilly winter evening sky;
then on slow wings they turn,
glide low and settle
exactly where they were.
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