somewhere it is monday

the air  is punch drunk with honey.
 in the dawning hours while the sun is still just a glimmer thru the forest and the sky is a milky canvas waiting for the final confirmation of day  I am watering the garden .
yellow bucket in one hand blue watering can in the other I fill them from the garden tank . 
already this day feels harder than yesterday, the soft grey has lifted  chased away by clarity. there is heat coming.
 watering over  I start to pull out the over grown apple mint shrubbery beside the tank .
the yellow robins arrive and perch sideways as they do,  on the rhododendron, the jacaranda,and watch , waiting  for the damp exposure of juicy tidbits.
it becomes a dance; I clear for a while and then move aside allowing them to dart to the ground and retrieve a worm.
head cocked worm in beak they fly off . I pull out more matted minty roots  until they catch my eye and I step back; like an orchestra we each have our parts to play.
we are in synch.
I started wondering if I was doing this for them or me?  
the sun has moved  higher into the tops of angophora stringybark monkey gum  grey box and they are glowing sunrise orange .
It is then that I am struck by  the scent of honey.
 a rich intoxicating perfume riding the whispers of breeze from the flowering mass in the angophoras thru the garden and up past the fine filaments of antennae in my  nostril. 
 twisted and contorted of shape the apple box gums  or angophora is an elder tree having the largesse to provide 
hollows for goanna possum and birds.
the  sun clears the forest and the garden opens to receive. 
somewhere it is monday .
here it is morning and the forest is alive and the air is heavy with honey blossoms.

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