Metaphor of my own return to ‘Country’

Indigo waves, fluttering leaves,
warm breeze, blue sky…
I sat on a camp chair and saw so much beauty,
beauty that I witnessed in my half-awakened state
thousands of miles away in the south-east.

A mirage, a body of water, a lake, a stream
materialized from my semi-conscious mind

from where I lay on a soft carpet of grass

beneath a tree.
No need for reflection,

my thoughts were eclipsed
by a moment of serenity
where breath and spirit merged.

An elder sat me
in a camp chair to fish —
her meditative recreation in Country.

We were alone, nowhere somewhere land.
Hardly had I pulled the line thrust in my hand
when a giant sword fish caught my bait
and it tried, oh it tried with all its might

to escape its fate!

The elder asked me to fetch a stick,

the sword fish stopped struggling,
when it realized it was being detached

from the bait, and she glided

back to Country.


—   north of Broome, 2010

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