An old, gnarled tree up along Wooroora Road.
[daily log: walking, 4km]
Day: April 1, 2019
Caveat: Poem #974 “A walk around my mother’s neighborhood in the north of Queensland, where there were a lot of bugs”
ㅁ They swarmed: a cloud of tiny bugs that - distilling atmosphere with wings - as if hyped up and stoned on drugs that impelled orbits more than stings. The green of trees and breeze-bent grasses made better views than bug-strewn glasses. In water standing by the road they buzzed beside a flattened toad. Unreadable unlike books' pages, the path unfolded asphalt planes and hiding mother earth's hot veins, concealing geologic ages. I stopped to take a picture then and waved my hand around again.
– a sonnet.
