I was the screaming current of Baffle Creek heading toward the sea. Feeling the rain, feeling the headwind and the dizzy illusions of adventure. Like there was nothing and no one, except me, the world and the white lines. Snaking the wind with one hand and finding direction with the other. Counting crows and the odd coucal pheasant clumsily changing direction Yeah… like holidaying in Spain, finding somewhere and someone new, begin again. Instead of acrobatting through hoops of pain, remembering Colosseum Creek and broken horses upon the lawn, all those fucking years, the tears and NOW, freedom wrapping me up in a moment. I felt my heart pump happiness and anger no more. Mere words cannot explain the emotion of feeling the earth’s soul moving with you. Nor how the sun beats a bruised sky that drips roads of blood between avocado trees and the pearlescent white of cockatoo’s wings, on the darkness above cane fields. Allowing death in the trees to sign the way to a land of dreams just around the bend, without the yellow brick road. Nor how the beauty of all this is painted within in my mind to share, in word postcards with you. Should you care to listen, as I lay there next to you, even if we only ever ride one wave right on in to shore. Where our footprints only last seconds and then disappear.
on each wave, treasures
driftwood dreams tossed on the shore