Poem - ‘A Sit Spot’

A Sit Spot

Each day, I go—
the same spot by the river,
where the reed warblers
fling their quick notes into the cool air,
like little sparks that never quite settle.

I arrive, and they know me—
a soft chirp, a pause, then back to their song.
They are at ease with me here,
as if my presence is nothing to fear,
just a rhythm in the day's unfolding.

The land is drying,
the drought a slow whisper
growing louder by the week.
Yet still, the wind carries
stories of moisture past,
a sigh through the reeds,
a hush under the brittle trees.

The galahs always come,
their bright pink feathers
flashing like soft explosions in the light.
They settle together,
quiet for a moment—
a shared space.
In their eyes, I see something steady,
something that has been here longer than I.

I listen,
not to hold on to each sound,
but to be held by it.
The river murmurs its secrets,
the rosellas sing their chirp,
a magpie calls from the shadowed red gum,
all of it moving like a live feed
straight into my bones,
telling me what I need to hear.

And though life around me
turns and shifts,
changing from green to gold to rust,
I remain in this place of knowing
that I can never fully know.
Its face is always changing,
Its current always flowing.

But here, in this moment,
I am part of it.

This place,
on my farm,
is the one constant,
the anchor before the rest of the day
carries me further from myself.

Here I sit,
eyes open, heart listening,
at peace,
and fuelled by the pulse
of this wild, unwritten spot.