Shadowlines
The woman pauses
As the shadow lines elongate
Across the winter-ravaged paddock;
The sun a pale battery hen’s egg
Nudging the horizon,
Backlighting the clump of scribbly gums
Pasted as an afterthought
Onto the arid landscape.
She pauses,
Hand to her eyes
As she squints to catch
The last drops of daylight
Then she flings her outback voice
To the shearing sheds, to
The rocky backdrop to the homestead,
Calling her lightfoot children
To their tea.