Almond tree in blossom
by the stone ruin
promises spring.

Cramped but fully formed.
the imago emerges:
a haiku is born.

Grey clouds edge eastwards
against the hills escarpment:
it's foggy up there.

Let the Spirit pour in,
empty cups serve no purpose
under heaven.

A satsuma plum in flower -
through the white lacework
peers a clear blue sky.

On still summer night
a distant recall: was that
a .. mopoke, mopoke..

Dark clouds assemble
before drenching rain,
then golden wattle sunshine.

Between running so early
and running late,
time runs away.

Drab stringybark needs
Tetratheca's bells to chime
lilac through the heath.

With curves plump and smooth,
desire lies hiding, waiting:
death adder ready to strike.

Beyond the hill's brow,
it's a downhill run
to a world full of surprise.