On Swan Bay

The gentle Bellarine curves framed the water

as my kayak and I slid into the rippling bay.

It was perfect, sunny, windless autumn.

On distant mud flats Black Swans ,

imperious,

strutted their stuff,

and took off in an overture of beating wings

when I dared to get close.

Pelicans sailed like ancient junks,

their prows staunchly curved into the wind,

those ancient eyes twinkling with joy,

confident in their splendour.

The only sounds were the rhythmic dipping of my paddle,

The water sluicing gently under my hull,

and the distant, background, all pervasive cacophony

of unnumbered birds.

Along the banks were opulent homes

with million dollar views

but out here,

lulled by the tide and awed by beauty

I was the millionaire.