Senses by Ceilidh Newbury

The red berries taste tart on my tongue. Not even in my mouth but squeezing out their sour sauce. Compact and packed with bitter biting bursts as I bite down.

Above a magpie’s wings. Whooshing past. Whooping, whipping the wind to wail. Whistling, hooting, cooing, like another bird’s cry. Rustling the trees and other roosting animals.

Orange leaves on the gum tree pop out. Splashes of colour amongst the green like a sunset breaking through. Reaching with hot fingers through the crowded treetops.

Those leaves would crunch like chips. Dried up snap and crackle. Already dead the colour drained from their cheeks but they hold. Mindlessly clinging to the life they lived in those trees.

The breeze blow eucalyptus up my nose. I’ve used that essence before to cover worse smells. Burning my nostrils and gagging me. But here it is softer and subtler and I can breathe.