Clouds diffuse light like a Himalayan salt-lamp. Listen it’s the sound of death — relentless tyres in both directions. After a time, rain begins to darken the asphalt, but a family remains. A large blue mother leads her babies in tentative steps of wellbeing. They wait like the chicken who dreams of the other side. Road safety was not a concern when only birds lived on this land. No cars, no buses. The first people set out traps, but in those days there were many more waterfowl for the pot. Today we measure the land in dollars which is why sub-developments spring up in place of habitat. It’s a shame we haven’t learnt to write signage a pukeko can read. Dear bird, please relocate to a safer avenue. Go to the duck pond on Emerald Hill Drive. The water there is said to promote longevity among the avian.
Sandi Sartorelli
Sandi Sartorelli was born in the Hutt Valley of New Zealand and has lived there ever since. She has recently completed a degree in creative writing with the Whitireia Creative Writing Programme. Some of her work has appeared in 4th Floor, Blackmail Press, Conversations Across Borders, Eye to the Telescope, Poems in the Waiting Room, The Mozzie, and Valley Micropress.
She is also known as Abra Cadabra.
