Driving through bush after rain:
muddy road, deep brown puddle-splash,
old man banksias and swamp mahogany,
and then a glimpse of ocean.
Sky moody blue and grey,
broken ocean slashed with white,
of tideline shells and footprints,
and scattered seaweed,
golden red, black, translucent buff.
Towards the south,
platform welcoming cormorants, tide and sky;
cow pat patterns
crouched and lumpy,
registering an ancient past.
Ahead, a vast expanse of sand
towards a distant headland;
intriguing sandtracks climbing dunes
into the background bush and lowering clouds.
A figure perches on the rocky outcrop
then stands against the sky.
Back at the road, a flat and open space
just asking for a tent
beside a sign that says “no camping”.
Towards the north
through flowering ti tree arched across the track,
a different scene:
cliffs of rock, not dunes,
for stockpiled sand and tiny gardens.
Sand-slides fall in deltas,
a rocky creatures drags its spine,
towards the south;
jagged edges frame the sea.
A smooth expanse of slatey rock,
cross-sections through the cataclysmic folds
that show so clearly in the next cove round.
Waves come crashing in.
Northern vistas have to wait for
a lower tide.
Same beach, to the south
change the weather,
change the tide,
and there you have
a different beachscape,
watched over by a man aboard
a thrumming kite
and a scrutineer of rocks
in rounded tesselations,