In the Yard - Bowerbirds

Last night I dreamed we’d found a stand of trees

Framing a pond and a field in between

And with a hammer and a blade and our four hands

Here’s what we made

The logs we peeled and stacked in a ring

And then we crowned it, our tiny house, with tin

And by the fire, flickering bronze and gold across your face

I heard you say:

It may not be a grand parade of snow capped peaks

No river silver-backed crashing through

But we have our black-haired babes running free

Through the woods

Squirrels in the rafters, wrens in the eaves

Red dirt neath our nails, orange stains on our knees

Blackberries in June down the path without our shoes

It may not be a grand parade of snow capped peaks

No river silver-backed crashing through

But we have our black-haired babes running free

Through the woods

Squirrels in the rafters, wrens in the eaves

Red dirt neath our nails, orange stains on our knees

Blackberries in June down the path without our shoes