July 19, 2009 · Filed under Local Stories, Regeneration
July 28, 2009 @ 4:57 pm
The landscape scrapes past my window, blackness tearing at my eyes
No birds fly by
The air hangs low and thick and I swear I smell smoke
I breathe deep and grip the wheel
I feel…gutted. Like the mountains look.
Haggard skeletons where lush bodies once swayed in the country breeze.
The sighting of green puts my mind at ease.
The symbolism squeezes around my sadness and rescues me from the deep.
O how the green does creep.
The leaves of the eucalypt look so optimistic and naïve on their dark skinned mother.
It helps me grieve better.
The valley weaves and winds before me, black upon black upon black.
There’s no going back, but there’s always a horizon.
And like hope, that green just keeps coming back.
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