Poplars and sweetpeas, a hedge of brigalows as a backdrop - I love the contrasts. A gnarled old fig tree, green with age, sports one leaf and one small fig to manifest its identity. It sits squat in the dirt, spreading its fingery branches around it as though ready to catch onto a passer-by for support in its old age.
The gardener, mute, dogged, plods up and down with the mower, spurning the powdery rain. A floppy brim stands guard over his specs, directing the drops off his collar. He has ankle guards over his socks, a sure sign he has bush Australian background.
At the foot of a powerful gum tree, a friendly monsterio has softened its companion's bed with a mass of cuddly leaves and long ago, crawled up into the branches for a chat. They look well together - civilisation resting in the arms of the bush. Perhaps 'cultivated' is a better word than 'civilized'. One thing is obvious, they have been together a long time and have established a friendship. I gaze, sipping in the harmony.
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