The Lookout

I am standing at the very top

Stretching up on my toes.

On a perfectly rounded, grassy mound

crossed by paths

that lead down the curve.

No wind, no creatures, no movement.

The ground falls away from my sight.

The sky arches above without a ripple

The sea and the sky tide together in breath stopping, unbroken blue

I turn in a slow circle above the city,

I turn and turn and turn

Wait for the vertigo to slow

Waiting, waiting, waiting

Look out through swimming eyes

My city has powered down to a disturbing hush

What force can pause my world?

Voices crackle across my reverie,

then clearer,

like an old radio booting up.

Shouts and laughter as a family climb the hill.

Children running ahead, Dad puffing on the slope, Mum striding with the basket of food.

I feel so much safer

when the air ripples and the colours swirl

with the movement of familiar daily life.

My father said:

“war was appalling but at least you could see the enemy”

Now we cling to frail slivers

of individual desire

to shape a future world,

beyond our fragile lookout.

By Helen Anderson

From: New Zealand