Home at last
By: Wendy Blaxland
I open the car door
to let the dark night in
and hear the soft owl sound
of a more-pork‒whoo-hoo‒
like a breath blown low
through cupped hands.
And a huge wing gently arches in
to crook around me in the night,
enfolding the bruises of my day,
wrapping me in a warm shawl of sound
made of feathers whispering ‘sleep’.
Wendy Blaxland is an award-winning writer. She has published poetry in Australia, England, the United States and Norway and over 110 books, mainly for children, both fiction and non-fiction. She is also a playwright with over 25 plays produced.
Wendy lives surrounded by bush near Sydney. Much of her poetry is inspired by the environment in which she lives. But she is a citizen of the world and is passionate about how poetry can vibrate the heartstrings of its people.
"This poem was written during a difficult time. I was supporting someone dear to me in hospital.
I had just arrived home one night after another hospital visit, and sat in the car a moment to recover. As I opened the door the unseen owl which lives in the tall trees surrounding us called from the darkness. This owl has always felt like a guardian spirit. Suddenly I knew that I would be fine. As I am–and so is the person I care about."