Looking out into a skeleton tree, from several floors up. The tree is a house and you are looking into the room that is the branches of the tree, the space shaped by the curving limbs, their fingers, lifted and spread. The tree is hospitable, opening out a bower where the gaze lingers. It is shared by birds – cockatoos, lorikeets, crows, red wattle birds and magpies. Your wandering thoughts settle here, in these spaces which are human, in a language of curves and being held. A network of bare twigs like alveoli, the tree is breathless, suspended in the dusk as the sky dims. …..

Copyright © Anne Brewster 2012. This text may be archived and redistributed both in electronic form and in hard copy, provided that the author and journal are properly cited and no fee is charged.