The Green Tint of Time The past, like old stones, gathers verdure … becomes moss-green. The future, unbecome, yet still realised, glows in today’s blood of all possibilities, a bejewelled dream of jade and emerald making the pulsing red stream verdant …   making time not an arrow, but a pendant. P.F. O’Donohue   Bird Haiku   Cockatoo shrieks bleed into dusk’s sulphur light as day’s crest flops. Night falls.   Galahs line grey skies: song clefs on pylons’ strung wires— tunes only they know. P.F. O’Donohue