Poetry of place

I was sinking down into the echo of the road

Maybe some fifty or so kilometres from Canberra on the Wollogorang plain

I had been in Goulburn having a rest from it all

Now I was going east for a time

Then the pull took hold

And I found myself heading south

My thoughts turning to bizarre, crazy, mixed up things

Things only the mind can make up when life is at work on it,

 

A person could get lost in all this flatness

Be a mirage in the shimmering January heat

And get buried in the deep silence of a Lake George night,

 

There could never then be a tomorrow

And who would remember

For what would have been the purpose ,

 

I pushed on though

Determined to get through

All the eucalypt and scrub

That lay before me now

And that last hill

To see her once more

In all her pacific glory

To lie washed up on her beach

Far from this mess of me