The sea is calm, the gentlest breeze, a world of peace, relaxed, at ease.
They came, first the Mother and Child, tentative, checking it out, then seven more, in formation, obediently, in homage to the onlookers, standing still, on the edge, reverently, wanting to know. Then breaking ranks and performing, small groups, family and friends forming and reforming, graceful arcs above and below, here and there, their breathing crisp and audible, connecting. An occasional flurry and frolic, then relaxing, in control, free and fluid.
Individuals slowing slowly, stopping, curiously, looking, just looking. Some twisting, turning one eye upwards intuitively, baleful eyes, familiar feelings, greetings … We are here, in the flesh, free and open to accept what this is. The sacrament, offerings of fish, in ordered lines, coming forth, one on one, we are as one. the gift is given and received with grace, in deference. The rituals complete, they depart on cue, bonding in beauty, we are born anew.
Credit: Ian Cochrane/Flickr (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/)
ALONG THE BIRDSVILLE TRACK
The sun beats down, the wind swirls through, the sweat clings to my back, the horizon floats in fading hues, along the Birdsville Track.
The road ahead is an endless line, as car stirs dust on high, the land endures this passing sign, it does not live or die.
The sands and soils of seedless time form contours flowing by, the landscape curves, a gentle rhyme, speaking to the sky.
The glittering sight of cooling night, shimmering rocks signal day, the Earth is turning, sweetness, light, life’s cycles fade away.
CONTRIBUTOR: John Stuart is a poet based in Byron Bay, NSW. www.jkstuart.com