We stand in the autumn gloaming
watching the sun drop below the ridge
as the currawongs and kookaburras
farewell the day.
Along the ridge, the trees
are black sketches against gold
below deepening indigo.
And then the first star appears.
I turn to my youngest
and, pointing: “make a wish!”
Without hesitation she replies:
“pancakes for breakfast!”
I turn to my son: “and you?”
“That’s not a star mum,
it’s Venus” he scoffs,
“you know, a planet…?”
They leave me standing here,
the smart-arse and SMART-wisher,
lingering in the dark, listening
to the laughter of the kookaburras.