Sunrise Breaks On a Morning Camp

It’s been a long day beneath hot sun, with sunset looming and daylight done, came across water with a stand of trees, deep in shadow with a zephyr breeze; a perfect place to camp for the night, joined by galahs in the fading light, with swag rolled out near a cooking fire, heating up a damper and then retire. Stars like crystal light the outback sky, way out here they don’t seem so high, Dingoes howl beyond a red sand dune, a mopoke hoots ‘neath a silver moon. And through the night as I try to sleep, the night feeders either call or creep, could there be a pig or a kangaroo? maybe a camel or an old emu. Sunrise breaks on my morning camp, The sky is lemon and leaves are damp. I poke the ash and I grass the fire, add kindling and the flames reach higher. I hear the call of a warbling wren, a butcherbird and a water hen. There’s nothing better than bird song, by a campfire near a billabong. The billy boils for a cup of tea, bacon and eggs sit upon my knee, already the thermals are in the sky, a wedge-tailed eagle is soaring high… passing by with babbling words, is a feeding family of apostle birds, all quite content to stop for a chat, as long as I feed them bacon fat. Sunrise has lifted on my morning camp, the suns’ in the sky, now nothing damp, I roll my swag and I douse the fire, with the campsite left as it was prior for the budgerigar and the cockatoo, or a flock of redrumps passing through. I won’t see them for I’m on my way; perhaps next year on another day.