Summer Sunday
And a fine silver thread
Travelled from the camellia bush
To the blackbird…

Power bundled in waves of black and shiny chrome and deepest bright blue…
Wheels at rest…

As he lifted his helmet…
The smile was a question of “What do you see?”
“A web”, I laughed,” A web!!”
But really thought…
Far deep inside…
A link between me and thee…

My first ride…
Was I afraid???? Excited??
Breathless rider on the road to freedom???

I really don’t know my answer…
But I think I looked close to the part…
Black lambskin leather jacket…
Black gloves and boots and pants…
Close-hugging top threaded faintly with flowers…

And a helmet…
Black…but more than black…
Paint on black…
Pieces of legend from North…West…and South…
A traveller’s treasure…
Colours from the koori dreaming…
And for now…this helmet was mine…

Like flowing with tides…
Wind-frantic high tides and lulling lows…
Like being at one with secret undercurrents…
Like vibrant surging on the crest of a wave…
Like tuning to worlds of moody waters
And knowing here are friends of the sensual soul…

But this was summer Sunday…
And the heat from leather is HEAT…

So we succumbed to the lure of ocean…
Altona……bay ocean…
And it seemed…after the heady ecstasy of the ride…
A little flat…colourless…
Peopled with swimmers but vacant…

We tried the pier…

I remember walking…sea breezes heightening…
And then…a touch…
Like flowing with tides…
Like being at one…
Like tuning to worlds…

And knowing a friend of the sensual soul.