A small white spider legs down the guide ropes
around the tent peg and disappears in to the
early morning haze of quartz and feldspar
air alive with magpie laugher
one in the distance, one above, others by the ponds
their final craw trails off like a good joke
last night dancing to Marvin Gaye
around the fire, smouldering now
sparking the slow birth of heads, flannel shirts, ugg boots
moving caterpillar file to the ponds
thick heads float in percolating vibrant blue waters

somewhere close to Thursday and breakfast.