Ages shift. Now, gowns of snow
chill earth’s warm glow. It sifts,
invokes a fear as queer as aqua,
or a leap year.
the freshness of those frozen steppes,
the white, the yellow yolk, the fractured
shell, the collateral omelette. Smell.
Smell it like an animal smells,
smell it with your synapses.
Hunt through the void. Seek a trail. There! The freshness yields.
Harsh nature’s feast isstale.
- Grant Cochrane 2015
Grant Cochrane is a Queensland writer whose work has appeared in Southerly (forthcoming) and Seizure.