The difference is in the little things

And the big things –

Black swans conduct mute patrols

Of mangrove crannogs.

Dusty green-grey eucalypt leaves

Don’t fall in the fall.

The Earth is red with aboriginal

Dreamtime blood-secrets

Even they do not remember.


The soul of this broad, stretched,

Big-sky land

Is in ochre soil.

Its heartbeat

Throbs deep beneath parched bush and salt pan.


Not in people, really (at least not the white folk)

Clinging to the margins – we suck shrunk land dry

And gloss the desert over with pampered grass –

Force an existence that is foreign here

And pretend that somehow we belong



About dreapadoir

Emergency Physician, author of Emergency Medicine blog, photographer at
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