LANDSCAPE

Slowly and shyly the sun creeps awakening me to the day.

Shadows uncurl and lengthen. They want, but they cannot stay.

Growing so long in the daylight they hide ‘neath the trees when it’s noon

Wildlife seek out their shelter before they go hunt for their food.

Dusty and dry, never-ending, I show you my desolate space,

Drawing you, luring you to me, enticing your feet to my face.

Soil slowly bakes to a dustbowl. The waterways dry up to mud.

People work hard for their living – with tears, their sweat and their blood.

Mountains stretch off in the distance bestowing some green on the land

Past them is nothing but desert with mile after mile of hot sand.

Artists come out here in buses and paint all the beauty they see.

Tapestries painted by moonlight are just a small part of the scene.

Singers write songs and make music, but dust devils dance to the tune

Sung by the wind in the treetops and the small native birds as they croon.

Landscapes don’t change in the outback, unless there’s a fire or a flood.

Nature will follow its course then and farmers will follow their blood.

Nature’s a harsh, lovely goddess – the landscape a map of her face;

Those who live in this landscape all choose to be no other place.