At Jerrikellimi Cave

The wind gusts then eases as we enter
an interval in stone, find sleeping place,
hearth, leaf through the visitors' book.
Outside, drops ricochet from basalt —
fireflies in a shaft of sunlight;
the billy ripples a pool clear as air.
Under the cobwebbed dome, we gaze at
tree-dense valley, slopes cupping blue cloud.
Stories are swapped, tea drunk,
while time measures us with different eyes.
We ascend with footholds on roots,
hands steadied by saplings. Almost there
we rest, among unknown birdcalls,
at home on the mountain.