Launceston and back today. Throw in a baby screaming all evening, a stroppy, whining toddler and we're talkin' good times! Maybe the marathon yelling session will mean an equally long sleep.
One can dream, can't I?
I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral...
Comments
Cheer up! This too shall pass.
Ilse, I am drawn to the bushes again now that the green is back out.
USelaine, Jen is always talking “more babies”. My philosophy is that you never have more children than you do spare rooms. We’ll have to move before we get another one.
Rebeckah, one of the few long extracts that I can remember!
Tania, how does the little [big] bloke go in the lungs department?