Fields of Summer

by Dianne Bates

Peakhurst

A wilderness of T-trees

In our paddock playground

One free day in the midst of childhood

A day filled with everything

We are wild things,

Charging, ducking, hiding,

Flies swamping our sweaty faces

A dove, startled, flies up and

Petals fall like a sprinkle of rain

As we play

A game of cowboys and Indians

With imaginary guns

Bang! Bang! You’re dead!

Falling to the ground face-up

Wisps of clouds slide above

As if breathing in and out.

• Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #2

Dianne says: The letter T reminded me of tea-tree bushes that as children my brother, sister and I played among. We didn’t get much time to play as we were forever working on the farm (pigs, goats and poultry).