Great Brown Land
Travelling this wide open road,
A wound slashed ‘pon the earth.
Roadside trees dusted with dirt,
Rusted delicate sculptures.
Marbles of rock fling with a zing,
Bouncing before joining their brethren again.
The coppery earth crunches ‘neath rubber,
Throwing up plumes of dust.
The spinifex sprouts in spurts,
Rooted deep into earth hard and dry.
The clouds above are yellow and grey,
Brushstrokes on a canvass blue.
The sun is kind at this time of day,
Before it’s rise to a higher power.
Ranges in the distance, grey and hazy,
A teasing mirage of a cool, wet ocean.
The air is dry, the dirt is dry,
Everything is dry,
Especially the flies.
They buzz incessantly,
Their fervour increased,
In their search for moisture.
Eyes, nose, mouth, ears,
The sweat of any man or beast.
And where the land has escaped man’s hand
It’s beautiful.
By J. Barrett
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