Transported on the Train
Clouds and cold air
clean cold air
alive air... not the too close warmth of the railway carriage.
School girls who feed the kangaroos which wait by the sanctuary fence.
The wide open space of the airfield with the hills behind.
These are the reasons to keep living.
These are the signs of God
little glimpses of something better than the rush of sales and specifications.
Memories of wide open spaces and blue pink ranges
floating above plains veiled with the clear mists of pure distance-
height telescoped in close by the power of holy places.
Did you ever lie in the spinifex on Warabillina
and shudder under the Wedge Tailed Lords riding round the ridge on the wind?
(air in a noisy pucker over their feathers
wide wings I might almost touch if I stand!)
The train goes under the bridge
and buries itself beneath the station.
But I will go on living.
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