Violet Town
The slow shift of clouds.

Barely a sound on this hot afternoon.
You could strum a guitar to an audience of none
in the main street under leaves in dappled light.
So quiet you can hear the distant approach
of a V-Line train* long before the clang of crossing bells.

Such a pretty name on Honeysuckle Creek
once known as Violet Ponds
where streets are flower-named
an easy wind makes old branches creak
seed pods clatter onto tin roofs.

There’s a weir somewhere, we’ve heard
but this is just a comfort stop off the Hume
en route from Euroa to Benalla
almost a mark on the Kelly Trail*
famous only for its markets
hand painted saws, home-made jams and Killing Heidi*

The inspiration for poems and songs*
Violet Town - the slow shift of clouds
ingenious teens devising their own fun*
summer days dreaming of oceans
as footpaths blister and crack
where silence is solid.
You can strum a guitar to an audience of none
in the main street under leaves in dappled light
so quiet you can hear the distant approach of a V-Line train
long before the clang of crossing bells.

© Deb Matthews-Zott