McDonnell Ranges, Alice Springs

In the beginning

I was here.

Long ago in the Dreaming,

when all that was

was sea and stillness,

I was here,

waiting.

When my time came, 

giant spasms shook the sea,

churned and strained, thrusting upwards

in cataclysmic shudders.

They ripped the sea's womb wide open
and flung me out into this world.

Mine was a violent birth,
but I was a long time young.

You didn't see me then, 

when I was young

and partly hidden high beyond the clouds,

my face all smooth, my body strong,

rising imperious, abruptly sheer

from endless flatness far below.

I was a roof for all the earth,

a sanctuary for those beneath,

who cherished me.

You didn't see me either, as I aged.

when the fierce winds came

and the storms raged and the rain coursed

deep into my limbs

etching furrows in my skin,

sheering offspring near and far,

as I began to falter

down the millennia.

Now that you've come

like all the others, 

and looked and wondered at this place,

remember that I'm old, like you,

grown heavy, wrinkled, as I'm weathered

slowly downwards,

in buckled, folded, jagged slide

towards the earth,

from where beneath

 my home is calling.

Yet on this day I still stand watch 

and talk to you, who stops and listens,

and contemplates how brief a stay,

is given us from dust to dust.

You feel my guardian spirit's touch,

enduring deep and long.

I feel your sense of kindred fate,

that all must end some day.

Remember then when your time comes,

the centre's heart will take you in

and I will point the way.

For until time itself is done,

I'll still be here to guard this land.

 

The heart of Australia

 It's a long way from mega city traffic to the vast stillness of the Red Centre.  But this is one journey that's well worth making.  While in Alice Springs recently, I couldn't help but wish that all Australians could visit here to reconnect with the heart of our country.

Near Alice Springs

A grandparent braves the London Underground

 Returning home to Hobart from the warmth and hustle of life in a big city I find myself remembering other cities and other transport systems, I have struggled through.  I wish someone had given me some helpful travel advice about the intricacies of getting around London, for example.


When using the London Underground for the first time on your own without a carer, you need to be prepared to find yourself relying on a power greater than your own to get you into the bowels of the earth and out again.  It seems easy  enough, just find the familiar red circle symbol and start your journey.  But be warned: feelings of panic may start to arise, as you find yourself being impelled down the stairs by the pressing throng, for the Underground will always be crowded, no matter when you travel.  Try to set your own course though, for before you proceed you will need a ticket and everyone else will already have one.  You won't need cash, but you will need a ticket--and any number of machines will welcome you to embrace them, touch their screens and get yourself the magic Oyster card that opens up all barriers to you;
    just as long as the machines don’t chew up your credit card, of course.

Beautiful Hobart

I'm now back from Brisbane on a calm, crisp and sunny day.  Once again as I step onto the  tarmac  and breathe the clean, pure air and drive from the airport towards the bridge with that wonderful sweeping view of the  river and the city nestling under the mountain, I realise just how lucky I am to live in this beautiful island state.  Tasmania, the hidden
jewel in the (Australian) crown.

From whoa to go in a week

At the beginning of the week, in this election, It was:

        game on, or a race, a play or an act,

        a lurch to the right and the right,

        the pollies perform in a make-believe world, 

        where  there's nary a voter in sight.

Now we're to have a People's Assembly!

Moving forward without taking any action

This election is bordering on farce.  The leaders shadow box the ghosts of Rudd and Howard, while mouthing the puerile slogans of "moving forward" or "taking real action".  The media treats it as a blood sport: own goals, fouls, tactics, quarter-time scores and the visceral reactions of the crowd.  Where are the policies and where is reasoned analysis?  Thank God for Possum Comitatus and The Piping Shrike, among other informative blogs.

Election Quip

One day a rooster, the next a feather duster

From Brisbane

Tanya's Penrose Quilt

From Brisbane

Tanya's flora and fauna quilt

Not another election

Julia has called an election for August 21st.  We can look forward to weeks of sloganeering driving us crazy again.   Julia, the slayer of Kevin versus Tony, the slayer of Malcolm both trying to out-slaughter each other.  It won't be an edifying time.
How many PM's have I seen come and go--- it must be at least 10.  Will Julia remain our first female prime minister, or will she become our shortest lasting female PM?

.

Sunshine State

Brisbane is a very different city from Hobart.  I was surprised by its vast skies, far horizons and heat shimmering over a never-ending flatness, when I visited family there. Their Brisbane suburb sprouted  suddenly out of long stretches of bushland cut in half by a major highway.  My visit prompted this poem.



Sunshine State

Up here where the sun is always on and the sky is forever blue,
everything lingers.

Only the road brings noise and movement,
its man-made pulse beats counter-point to the brooding notes of emptiness,
just over the Great Divide.

Up here where the road fractures the bush, great gums still tower.
Their grey-green presence is everywhere,
crowding the edges of things with darkness.

Immutable, mysterious,
encroaching.

Travel advice

For an aging grandparent travelling alone to visit offspring on the other side of the world, there is only one piece of advice worth heeding (and it isn’t to be found on the official travel advisory sites). That advice is that:

whatever happens, you are never to panic.

Don’t panic, even if, on emerging from the stifling 2 hour torture of immigration processing in the Heathrow cattle-pens, you don’t recognise the long-haired, part-bearded Rasputin-look–alike, who says he’s your son.

He will be.

Don’t panic, even if, having successfully negotiated the train trip from Euston to the correct Birmingham station, you cannot find your daughter-in-law and grandchildren at the designated meeting-point and you cannot find a public phone and when you do, you cannot get it to work, and when it does, you find that your family are only a few metres away, but you still can’t find them.

Eventually you will.