One Saturday 
an old used-up weekend in my life 
back when I was a small boy who took shortcuts home 
I remember that Saturday and how golden was the hillside
how the fences cast shadows through blades of long grass
while it danced when the wind played the lead
along the way I ducked clotheslines with flapping white blankets and wool socks
that made dogs bark for no reason
almost home I stopped to take a drink 
from a cold stream with those floaty things 
a puttering engine in the distance pulled me up for a look
when I do I see a fishing boat breaking the glass harbour
I become lost in the triangle wake of that trail the vessel leads behind 
as its crew steams toward their living into the greying eve 
while seagulls give chase for little company
it stretches a few seconds for me for some reason
captivates me, holds my breath, takes grip of my soul
until the lighthouse steals away the attention
enough to break my trance 
in time to hear the voice of my grandmother who sings my name
through the hills 
beckons my return from the adventures of my childhood 
it won’t be long now, just cross the torn bush garden and the triangle stone
like I remember…one Saturday