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
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I have worn socks with my Crocs before. And it is so dang hot out here that all the crocodiles have to wear socks once they get out of the rivers or their feet will burn up. Actually I am not even sure if we have any native Crocs here in CA. Scary enough to go into the ocean with the Great White's but usually our lakes and rivers seemed safe.
Maybe you need to go further into the bush to catch the crocs wearing their socks, lounging around, smoking a few buds, waiting to catch their prey.
Happy TT and hope you have a warm weekend with your socks keeping you all warm and toasty.
God bless.