Sara Perry

Easter long weekend, I’m riding window side  on the train  as concrete transforms  into sweeping plains of sun soaked land — I count the roos  in the paddocks we pass,  and forsaken farmhouses, sunken with time, while a farmer and his wife stop their work to wave us by — In the next town, rows…

Give me one last dance,  with the versions of myself, the ones I left behind, scattered  like a trail of crumbs, so I can find my way out   from the crevices where I shrunk  to make myself fit, and go back, to the metropolis, and the mountain ranges  that stretched my bones, popping and…

I feel an internal spring beckoning,  with sweetness in the air, and I must remind myself  how to feel safe  in a new season, once again. Parts of me yearn for my northern home, the muffled silence of winter, the existential dread of snow.  How blessed to have experienced two winters and two springs.  My…

Today I sat upon my couch and watched a thousand ants feast  upon droplets of sweet poison  scattered upon the windowsill, quite haphazardly by me — and I thought,  how humiliating — for a human as large as me,  to fear tiny ants who roam the earth,  and by colony, think they are free.  I…

My love for you falls as freely as snowflakes float from heaven, covering the fields inch by inch, wrapping you around my wild heart; pausing only to breathe in your sweet earth scent. Your touch melts winter into spring, beckoning buds to bloom heart first, reaching up to you, our seasons intertwine, enduring as long…

Summer’s heat was formidable,  I could not see the wildfire, but only smell, that acrid cloud,  its furnace curtained by mountains. Do you remember that summer? There was a burning house on 5 mile, the one with a caved-in roof  where ripe thimbleberries scattered  the side of the road. Do you remember when  we heard…

As autumn begins to bleed into a finer chill,  I have an innate urge to rush this period of transition,  but to resist the changes of a season is to miss  the subtle slowing and awakening of the earth.  Despite decaying leaves and claustrophobic skies,  there is a feeling called apricity to look forward to. …

A ripe moon, its iridescent glow, harbours the tides within me. Chaos clambers on the shore,  but you continue sleeping.  The tide continues to rise, holding me in all of my truths and my lies, I close my wet eyes, and focus on my breathing.

Dry eyes heavy with mid-July look upon great mountains  winter evaporated, I rub my sweat-grained brow ice water licks my toes,  an attempt  to pry my soles that have moulded over the tumbled stone floor, scattered colour; bright purples,  greens and reds beneath the glacial water, they burn dull when met  with Earth and the…

I can feel the subtle slowness that I yearned for so many years ago, and have since overcome the realisation that being bored and doing nothing is not only foreign to me but essential to being alive. In a world full of distraction it is a blessing to be still, however uncomfortable it may feel,…