Lynda Hawryluk

In the shadow of a monolith
Sleeping sentinel against a late summer heatwave
Tussock grass up top bent to a breeze which dosent reach
us down here

Driving down a corrugated country driveway
the Jolt of the cattle grid on unsuspecting suspensions
Bounces us back to reality
And to lunch at a studio of its own making
Birds hear the friendly banter and bickering
Of new friends chattering in sultry sweatly stillness
Sipping a tonic or two to ward off the heat

A palm slaps against exposed and fresh flesh again
I am a novice at this
And wore short pants to the artitst' picnic
Bushman's repellent is no match for the midges'
miniature night
Food, wine and company provide simple sustenance
To soak up a solitutde only broken by an old dog's
satisfied sigh
And the laughter of likeminded souls

The horizon is conquered by Gawula
Looming silently before us
A benign benefactor of generations past
Tinted with the stain of genocide
The mountain wears its low cloud crown proudly
Rising through the mist like a tussock-covered pheonix
In the late afternoon a summer squall sets in
A tempest in the treetops

Eucalypts bend back lazily, stretching their limbs after a long
day providing filtered shade
The sky turns gunmetal then opens ud and envolopes us
Washing away the heat and dust
Fat drops drip their way through a frayed gauze sunshade
the sad grey skin of low cloud breaks open
revealing a white light interior

And still the majestic monolith watches on
the trachyte teeth of a still-sleeping camel bared in solemn warning
Blue-green hues of a murky mountain
Hide the soft edges of a jade statue
Pushed up through the earth with volcanic force
And carved out over 60 million years or so
Hidden rivulets and valleys snake their way across the landscape
To a mob of contiguous eucalypts
looking up at an old man's forehead formed by the wisdom of age
firm but fair, a guiding hand to explorers long since lost to time

Laughter subsides to silence as the squall passes by
The nearby trees are still once more
While the last fallen leaves dance a mournful corroboree
Welcoming restless spirits home
We congregate like parishioners around the pews of Peter's table
to learn a lesson about being reborn from the ground up.