It’s autumn and I know the sun is setting earlier, but I still have time to take a longer route on my walk home before I am confined inside for the night. I turn down a street I rarely go down because there is no reason for me to ever be here – it just has houses and gardens belonging to strangers.
Half way down is the back wall of a brick church that has gumtrees growing across it, maybe to give some cover to what would otherwise be a bare, red wall. I stop to examine some of the gumnuts that are in larger clumps, as if all huddling together as the day comes to an end. They are looking out for what may be approaching, bobbing in the wind and keeping each other safe. They are heavy and grannysmith green, each thick and sturdy so it could survive a long fall to the ground.
Each one has lost its blossoms and is hollow. If I was much smaller being, I could curl up in one and be warm for the night. That is assuming there isn’t already something in there that has had the same idea. It’s best not to explore what’s inside a dark hole in Australia, even if it’s a small one and there’s no warning of danger because it’s part of something beautiful.