At the roundabout, I pass a man in a grey business suit. He holds a rat, at arm's length, in a humane trap.

It resembles one of those sleek, creamy-bellied climbers that grasp the palm-fronds with pale, hand-like paws. I hope it's a native, but it's probably a Ship Rat.

I exit the roundabout and accelerate.

in my mind
I rework the scene
sins of omission

The wildlife book tells me this is the creature that stashes its empty snail-shells behind my shed and calls “sitt-sitt” at dusk, like an old woman trying to catch my attention. A note adds, “surprisingly gentle disposition.”

I think about the man striding towards the creek reserve.

across the footpath
frangipani
& shadows