Nine
things on a November evening. The scrabble of fair-sized ants around footpath
leaves and alongside fallen twigs. Basil leaves billow twice their size after
weekend rains, pots of Italian fragrance. Doors ajar. Each colour in place where
the cook fills the square inches of each salad plate. Outside or inside, the
two cats find the cool. Red glow in the tall green eucalypts and at hillside
windows near sunset. Car locked. Watering can rests with the tomato stakes
after its daily chore. In the softly darkening house a woman reads favourites,
between two lamps she will soon turn off.
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