sketchy

Trailing snow

trucks that scrape 

the road and throw salt

at my car, I imagine

ahead and drive on the other

side under the hot sun.

I no longer need my helicopter to hover over my family; instead I am using it to explore new worlds.

Why does the flock of black birds dance

and hover

and land

on that branch of the one tree so close

to the road and speeding cars?

Winter blasts through town, blows

away my footprints and leaves

a smooth layer for new marks.

I have lived overseas since 1995, and am returning to Australia in February to complete an MFA in painting!