Project - Headwaters
Nestled in the sheltered Kiewa Vally at the head of the valley, I am surrounded by the mountains and headwaters of the Murray and tributaries, the High Country. Tormented by blizzards and bushfires, enchanted by alpine herb fields and tall temperate rainforests, the great water maker disperses its bounty to the ebb and flow of low country existence.
At the passing of another day
Long, hot, smoky and full of threat
Time has slowed in an empty way
And earth, plant and all succumb to heat.
The fading day lifts air and dust
The endtime winds stir fire to rise
And lash the gum gasses as they must
The mountain is burning, and she cries.
Cries for the creatures and tangled wreck
Heaves for the giants and secret moss
Deep memories sigh, as the boulders crack
A smoke flag rises to mark the loss.
I rest beneath a wilting garden tree
In mourning the sun dons an orange band
As the last hot peach of summers spree
Drops sweet into my dirty, human hand.
Steve Baird Travel Journal #10 2020
Long, hot, smoky and full of threat
Time has slowed in an empty way
And earth, plant and all succumb to heat.
The fading day lifts air and dust
The endtime winds stir fire to rise
And lash the gum gasses as they must
The mountain is burning, and she cries.
Cries for the creatures and tangled wreck
Heaves for the giants and secret moss
Deep memories sigh, as the boulders crack
A smoke flag rises to mark the loss.
I rest beneath a wilting garden tree
In mourning the sun dons an orange band
As the last hot peach of summers spree
Drops sweet into my dirty, human hand.
Steve Baird Travel Journal #10 2020