37. rain in blackheath, the blue mountains, new south wales
winter rains come, to darken the wood, to wet the pollen of late-flowering gums, to soak the king parrots & rainbow lorikeets, mountain-generated, thick, layered rain, from clouds that churn like blankets, as humus-rich worms turn slowly through the soil, a strong wind moves along the deep valley floor & up the sandstone cliff face to blast the chill in, spidery waterfalls blow sideways as mist is rushed to the top like broth, overflowing, the valley brim holds fast, wildlife has burrowed in, wet rocks have darkened & the smell of rain seeps up out of the ground, it brings all that is earth flooding into your breath, in early august, you will carry twigs & wet leaves in your clothing, your hair hanging limp, absorbing mist, snow is expected within the week, the sky falls grey & the terrain becomes so still, as if to pick the perfect time, until it says, snow now, beyond the petrol stations, narrow stands of shops & cabins, the blue mountains are wild, blackheath pods sleep within the windy consciousness of trees, to come rattling seeds above the heath in the clear spring, but for now the rain falls gently, blanking out horizons, settling in, windows light up like ground fires, & shine out over the edges of flat water, thin smoke spirals twist into the icy air, see way out over there, where the uneven hills & rocky crags pull in & out of the mist, this is the mountain country, that is where the cold rain is |
