In spring
mother would wash her hair
with only rain water


Together,
we would walk beneath the cypress pines
towards the rain tank

I would carry the battered pink shallow
tub for her.

We would talk of the day
watch for magpie's
ever keen to swoop and dive upon us.

Slender
she would bend to the rust flecked tap
at the base of the tank
and release the flow

The water came with
its own mossy ground scent
crystal clarity
poured like molten silver
into the bowl as I held it steady
beneath the tap

She would sit then
upon the weathered timbers
upon which the rain water tank sat

Humming softly to herself
she would swing her long black
hair down into the tub and let
the water soak in

Her hair would darken three shades before my eyes

Changing to the most ebony sheen
as the water caressed it and soaked through
the long strands

Then she would fling her hair wild
into the chill of spring morning
allowing the droplets to fly in all directions
landing on my face
the ground
the dying lavender hedge behind the tank

Then
with long fingers
she would squeeze the remaining water out
to splash onto the earth
and soak deep within.

I would empty the rest from the pink tub
and together
we would walk back to the house