After a warm windy day, the sky takes on a steely blue clarity and against this the gum trees inflict themselves; the simplicity of their outlines cradled against the sky, in an almost demented starkness, to become etched images of evanescence.

Dragging the hose-pipe behind me like a forever unwinding snake, I water the garden. In the drought conditions the earth simply soaks up even a fairly heavy sprinkling like a huge sponge, leaving the soil around the roots of new, not yet established plants as dry as dust. Standing and watering I noticed something out of the corner of my eye – a honeyeater wings beating the air taking an afternoon shower in the mist from my hose, it flits from plant to plant following the shower of water. Watering is a chore that I enjoy, it is a joy to be in the garden surrounded by its untamed beauty and watching the plants perk up after a day of heat.

Our five year old lemon tree leans heavily on its crutch. It doesn’t produce many lemons yet but in the dampness of the early evening the smell of its blossom pervades the garden. On the back lawn Starlings run rapidly, unearthing worms. A black bird sings perched upon the pool fence, its pure fluid song fluting through the early evening before it opens its wings and makes a low swoop across the garden fan tailed, to disappear amongst the gum trees. Wattle birds jump from branch to branch, chasing off the smaller birds who flit amongst the gum leaves unheeded by the larger birds. Ground doves, their courtship an almost absurdity, as the cocks fan their tails, swell and bow their heads up and down chasing the heedless hens on circular routes. With a white flare, a cockatoo arrives with a raucous scream upon a bow of a gum tree. Fanning his tail, he cleans with his beak, one feather then another. Another Cockatoo lands beside him in a flurry of wings, then another and another until the tree is covered in settled and resettling cockatoos. Constant squabbles at the feeding tray break out as the Cockatoos vie for position. They depart suddenly, squawking, as the sky darkens, leaving the air thin and pale and dim and in the trees a weight of darkness gathers. The stars appear, low and large and trembling.

The watering finished for another day I wind up the hose-pipe. The garden is now silent except for the whispering rustle of the leaves in the gums. In the last hour I have lived in the moment without worrying about deadlines or thinking about aches and pains or woes and wants. Time that passes as if it didn't exist. Not lost time - simply time out of time. Time when you don't grow older, or grayer or sadder - although you may grow wiser. Time in the garden simply does not exist it just is. It is a time for reflection and silent thoughts. It is a time of beauty and of being caught up in the moment that you feel yourself appreciating the simple beauty inherent in life.