About Rules and Risks

In the bush I lower my mask to my chin

and breathe in

the intelligence of eucalypt and damp earth.

I pass people out walking,

hear snippets of their conversations:

it was negative, then positive . . .

maybe it’s a false sense of security . . .

when we get back to normal  . . .

And I think

there’ll be no going back

on the wings of nostalgia

to a brighter simple past.

Its tense was always imperfect.

It’s a past that got us to where we are now

all masked up

and waiting for the symptoms to appear.

It was never okay to destroy habitat

though it was normal.

The view from the hill

looks post-card pretty

the river calm, a drifting craft

drawing a middle line along the liquid grey.

Down there in the buildings

people are getting on with things,

back at work or sorting through a list

of New Year house and garden jobs,

trying to keep risk at bay.

I keep walking.

Up ahead there’s a man with two dogs.

As I approach

he hooks them onto leads.

Rules are rules he says.

And I think

about how rules

can make people rebellious,

me included – though so far

in this pandemic I’m willing to comply.

I keep walking.

Suddenly

just behind me

a rock tumbles down the hill.

My body picks up speed

to move out of its way.

And I think

how it sounded like a runner

coming too close.

Anne Collins writes poetry and non-fiction.  Her fifth and most recent book titled ‘How to Belong’  was published in 2019. Her work has also been published in literary journals in Australia and internationally.