Muscles and torsoes of cloud
ascended over the mountains.
The fields looked like high speed
so new-mown was the hay,
then the dark blue Italian lavender
met overhead, a strange maize
deeply planted as mass javelins
in the hoed floor of the land.
Insects in plastic armour stared
from their turrets, and munched
as others machined stiffly over us
and we turned, enchanted
in sweet walling breath
under far-up gables of the lavender.
- Les Murray