77. Housesitting for Jake Dennis

 

Housesitting 

I step outside barefoot.

Before sunrise.

The grass is wet from the night, 

cool blades pressing my skin

I breath deeper. 

Tomorrow I'm back home

to thirty square metres.

no grass. 

I close my eyes. 

The smell, sharp,

cut grass,

pulls me back

to childhood lawns,

full of bindeyes,

before fences.

I walk slowly

counting every step

toward the lake.

The sun shows off.

A baby kookaburra 

practices laughing.

I stay.