Brooke Forbes

The moonrises over Anzac Hill,

Giving light to shadows,

Depth of vision to vantage points.

The steady white light bounces across the town and plays with twinkling street lights and dwellings, touching near and far. 

What’s kept beneath is a town gently decompressing,

Escaping from the humdrum of the day:

A moment for recovery. 

It moves me,

Too,

As I watch in silence. 

Across the other side, a great orange monolith melts into the ranges, burning bright yet somehow fading. 

It gives colour to great silhouettes – an overarching shape, black against the horizon. 

The rising moon and the setting sun talk to each other in poetry: one offsetting the other. 

The passing of the baton: from one light source to another. 

The near full moon, a gentle new form of white light, shining in a ball of intensity. 

The sun, leaving bright orange hues as it dips out of sight for the evening – a watercolour inspiration, a dance with colour on darkness.

What will we find, in the setting of one day, and the rising of the night?

New creativity?

New ambition?

Space to exhale?

A change in tone and tense?

I can watch the transformation for hours; this interplay of the solar system, this soft opposing dance. 

But,

For tonight,

I turn away,

I start my car,

I descend Anzac Hill,

And,

Quite deliberately,

I recommence my evening routine.