Away from the coastal, up the track by the waterfall
Sand turns to clay and fern and soon turns to tea tree.
And wilding pine, sent to civilise.
A welcoming fantail tells its story of death, ignored.
At the corner, the orange clay veined with red,
The slick steps blurred by the rain
Best to turn to avoid the treachery of the land.
Run to the crest of the ridge, cut across by the metalled road
And drop down again from the plateau to the treasure.
Where rooty track abruptly becomes grip tread board walk,
Running low over sluggish water.
Geometric fern and whip reed moire
Build architecture for shy birds.
Along and down through the doughnut car park,
Past the graffiti trees and the changing huts
To the picnic tables in the shadows.
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