Back where the Marlbeelup Chapman Brook
meets the Joojilyup Blackwood River.
There are four big marris and a big
peppermint. The sun is out
and I can faintly see small fish in the
shallows, maybe perch, maybe bream.

Chunyart the 28 escorted me in. 
Karak the red-tailed cockatoo lines
the marri trees above,
screeching out to one another.
Some white tails flew over
on the driving here.

I walk further up-brook along 
the Marlbeelup, past the boat launch,
past the barbecues and campground,
along the water’s edge. 
There are signs about the native veg-
etation. There is sword sedge, I think.

And as I come around one corner
there is a long black line on the trail—
around one metre long, with yellow underbelly,
body a bit thicker than a thumb.
I pause—a few meters off—and watch 
as he slithers into the bushes by
the side of the path.

All of this reveals itself in the 
light of blue-morning day, 
the first clear sky in a week or more.
But it reveals its essence
to the observing mind
and finds its fullness
in relation to the widths
and depths
of the human being and the earth
found there.