Up On Eureka Creek. Poem by Geoffrey Fafard

The mists of the cool morning
Rise off the warm backwater
Hiding the gliding of the whip snake
Thats too big for the golden Kingfisher

So you rise at 5.30 and stoke up the fire
Putting in a hardwood backlog
And quietly you watch hidden in silence
Observation is your guide

A keen eye is your teacher
Fig birds dance on a branch
Water flies and dragon flies
Skate between the reeds

And the black dog is keen to find
The long gone snake
I reach for the warmth of the fire
Hands extended in a greeting

I can smell the coffee brewing
And the scent of the coming day
Lingers on the rising mist
The bush does for me what no man can.