betwixt dew-fall and
thirsty Earth —
betwixt dew-fall and
betwixt dew-fall and
thirsty Earth —
my way through
the Great Big Book of Greek and Latin Roots.
i sound out
Our library has history, language, geography, philosophy &
Let there always be dragons!
the best part of the day was taking the dogs out.
Gemma is small and brown. She is part Corgi (her legs) and part Joy. She loves to run around and around in great circles over the grassy hill and back again.
Dooley is my Mum’s fool of a poodle. He is tall and thin and black and he chases after Gemma, barking. She runs around him, leaping at his throat when he gets too close.
After the chasey game, they lie in the cool grass and I sit with them as the stars start to come out. There is slobber on my leg and my foot, but Gemma is lying on her back in the grass with her tongue lolling out, smiling up at me.
And all is well in my world.
in seal pose on my kitchen floor I’m waiting for my own birth and I’m gently reflecting on how all my little worries were resolved and I’m in all moments in-between
our sun unborn and the final marvelous aria of the opera of the planets and the tins to be unpacked from yesterday’s shopping – all happenings all time in this moment
When I was little, I found a dead toad and took it to Mum and she said wow! and took it from me and put it in a brown paper bag and we buried it at the foot of a tree and a while later (almost forever) she let me dig it up and inside the bag was a beautiful creamy white toad skeleton and some bits of brown crusty stuff and a little gore stuck to the bag and mum said see the ants ate the rest and she let me take the skeleton to school to show my teacher and all the kids.
Once, I had been waiting in the car a long long time at the Karana Downs Country Club and I finally got out and walked around the back and peered into the doorway and there was Mum, leaning on the bar and she said something and all the worker men started laughing and she started laughing and I was shocked because my Mum had like actual friends.
Long ago we used to drive to Sydney to visit my grandparents. Road trips were the best and there were many best parts. Driving through the night following a big truck emblazoned with lights because Mum said he has a birds eye view and it’s safer to follow behind him. And she would tell me her growing up stories. Having breakfast at a road stop and Mum laughing with the truckies as if she was one of them as she ordered our breakfasts: a miniature box of cereal and if we were hungry bacon and eggs on toast with real butter. Driving under the New England mountains as the sun rose, luminous green looming above us as we sped on past.
Perhaps her growing up stories were the best – about Newcastle and the Indigenous shanty that grew up beside it because the Indigenous people were not allowed into the town at night. About running free through the bush, climbing trees, playing in the creek. About taking her brother on the bus on a Saturday and going to the movies and having enough change from a penny (or whatever the money was back then) to get some yummy treat and the bus home. About the times my Granny Vik (Mum’s mum) was in hospital with TB and she and Poppy were sad but at least they got to eat their favourite food: tinned braised steak and onion!
One time we were driving home and got pulled over at Warwick for speeding and the copper discovered Mum’s license was a few years out of date and Mum was really mad but she calmed down and waited for Dad to come and he didn’t even bring someone to drive his car so she ended up driving home anyway.
Mum used to help out at school. We had a big station wagon as there were so damn many of us and she would arrive at the school, pile a dozen kids in, including many of us loose in the boot, and take us to the pool or local sports ground, museum or wherever. And she did reading help and was grossed out by one boy’s wrist to elbow snail trails of glistening green. Not that she told us about that back then. And she’d cook really cool nut loaves in a cylindrical tin for the school fete. Till she compared the cost of ingredients to the profit made and started donating money instead.
And the kids at school were jealous because now and then Mum would pick me and my sisters and brothers up from school on a Friday lunchtime and the car would be packed for camping and we’d get dad and the whole family would go camping at Christmas Creek and get to hang out in the water making and unmaking dams and later sitting around a campfire watching the smoke go past the treetops and join the stars.
And her crying one evening because she was all ready to go to her basket weaving course and dad hadn’t come home from work (again!) and it was one more thing that she had to put aside for his work, for all us kids. Which was why she snorted when he got nominated for Senior Australian of the Year, though she went with him to the various ceremonies, and the trip to Canberra and loves going with him every year out to some country town that everyone always means to go to one day but never does. And they have a good old time together.
Mum loves her garden. When I was a teenager and she had blessed me with seven younger sisters and brothers I said to her hey you never talk to me and she said well I’m not going to sit around inside all day come out to the garden with me. And I put on one of her straw hats and a pair of stiff gloves and she set me to work pulling out cobblers’ pegs and packed up her wheelbarrow and took off to a different acre.
Mum loves her craft too. Despite dad’s early lack of respect for her creative time, she has learned to make quilts, beautiful quilts and leaves dad behind from time to time to travel far away and buy exotic fabrics or learn a new skill and takes the time to see the world a bit while she is at it. Once we went to a quilt show together at the Ekka and marvelled at the artistry. And then we went to look at the chooks and Mum whispered loud enough for everyone around to hear that the roosters wattles look like balls and suddenly we were surrounded by bright red wobbling, twitching testicles and we were laughing raucously and had to get out of there.
Well, Happy Birthday Mum. It’s been quite the ride, and I’m sure there are many adventures to come!
So, I was sitting on the front steps, surrounded by a riot of cosmos, calendula and sunflowers. A trio of white butterflies played tag through the mistiest of sun-showers.
And I sat there wondering: Did my boss’s boss notice that I put a surplus apostrophe in an email last week? Will I have to go shopping again on Wednesday? What is my current uni debt? How many students will come to my class at 8am on Monday? Do I have enough clean socks?
How many times do I wish to be home among the flowers and the butterflies!
And here I am. In paradise, and dwelling in imaginary dramas.
“I tend to remember past dramas on days that lack any.”
Branch, Dan. (January 2018). Past and present drama. [blog post]. https://kwethluk.net/2018/01/27/past-and-present-drama/
they chew through silverbeet
nibble the petals of the calendula &
sip the sparse early morning dew
hypervigilant. hyperactive. biomechanical eating machines –
a-whir and click-flicking through the garden &
into my sleep
her other shirt swings
on a makeshift line –
response to haiku horizons prompt – bundle