A day to paint
the colour splashes
in the buildings across the river.
A day to look
in the water
for ripples and memories
of people who travel up the river.
A day for friends
who paint or play music
and help to bookend
the day in the feeling of friendship.
A day to sniff out
a creative on the way to
discover a muse in a flute player
followed by birds in a gallery.
A day to dream of cloud pianos
and fog flutes
bringing all the world together
in a rainbow of sound.
(c) June Perkins, words and image.
This is what I wrote for this image, what would you write?
The creek is still here
skeleton bush returns bit by bit
but the swinging tree of the waterhole
The tiny blue trimmed butterflies hide
with the dandelions
gold and brown ones nestle deep into the green grass
capturing them with camera leaves them free to fly.
Why do some children take the red nets
and break the wings of such beauty,
why can’t they let them be?
Two friends sit at a round table
discussing Emily Dickinson
and how she had to speak to others
from another room.
She needed so much room to write her words
still she hid them away
Butterflies hiding in the grass
sing of Emily
and wonder what she would have
made of cyclones.
(c) Word and images June Perkins