by JUDE AQUILINA Streets are lined with proud facades, window-eyed clad in fluted iron, or stone patterned tin, raising bullnosed brows and peaked caps to tourists and trucks – for time does not weary them: the Trust keeps them corrugated.…
seeds rattle, kept safe in a thin brown envelope her waiting garden quiet as a blade, the thought of saltbush fills the room standing by the ruins she’ll run a hand between stones and look out for birds through strange…
glimpsing the moon through dark wisps of cloud in desert chill … retiring types you and I cross borders on these trains — from the Ghan, SA/ NT out on the reef snorkelling between coral beside rainbowfish – eyes bulging…
pobblebonk ping pong soliciting in valleys above dank paddocks as city haze looms heavy this huge blue moon defies clouds – Neerim Hills, West Gippsland, VIC
sound filling my view azure waves sweeping in blades slicing down metronomic turbines turn sentinels towering
treescape in this forest closely-growing eucalypts stretch to the light intuitively seeking a better view here is shade under heavy foliage where nothing grows but an awareness of life’s empty spaces how very dark some tree trunks appear after solid…
the hours of shadow herald their arrival through moonglow leather of wing, they swoop to prance about the quandongs
sunburnt main street smiling faces, hats and boots behind doors sighing El Nino takes all breath away dust, smoke, tears in rural eyes
wetlands… two pacific black ducks glide past the reeds away from the madding crowd the world as it should be through the canopied bush track past glistening Yarra… our conversation gives way to the whispers of gums hitting the ball…
ficus trees stand watch in the old asylum grounds the lunatics have left colonial buildings crumbling in the summer rain moment to moment the changing hues of this harbour inlet under the matte blue of a windswept sky lunch break…
