The Mullet The Mullet RunThe air and sea have made a deal to soothe the sweet Pacific.Awareness is everywhere
in the rain drops, on the dripping foliage of the wattle trees and in the memory of the soft shelled crab awaiting his new carapace.Awareness is everywhere and becomes tangible. There is the scent of the wet burnt eucalypts hanging in the air
hanging like that dream I failed to remember even though I thought I had.Birdsong and happiness splits the air as the world says goodbye to summer.This is a bounteous place. A place pleading to tell a secret. A secret involving gravity, and latitude, salinity and atmosphere.The summer rains are finished and the mullet are coming.From the backwaters of creeks and lak
A Right One A Right OneBorn into a world of beautyCreated for us allYou blameless spirits of mankindAnswering voices we can't hearResponding to a different callSouls unfettered from the normOf what we call societyNeeds that we can't cater forVisions we will never know,Life that only you can see.The sorrow that I feelWrenching cruel my heartIs that I cannot share your thoughtsOr hear the beating drumTo which your footsteps march.Know, my friends, your valueIn the scheme of manMaybe the shadow that you castLong across my sightIs the yardstick that I needTo measure wrong from right.
The BoyThe BoyHe was skinny, about eight or nine years old, and was sitting on his heels at the edge of a rock pool. Long hours of sunlight and salt had burned his skin the brown of old nuts, with a glow of gold beneath and his wide feet, with splayed toes gripped the sharp rocks comfortably. He was munching on a sandwich but his gaze never moved from the pool and its surroundings. As a small crab zig zaggd over a rock and hurried by his foot, he stopped chewing and stayed still observing the crab as it found a hiding place in a small pukka. Unlike most children this one made no move to disturb or annoy the small sea creature.As he bent to look at a sea anemone, his head was reflected in the clear surface water. Green eyes set deeply between straight black brows were fringed by thick dark lashes and looked like anemones, themselves. The rest of his face was even featured and serious. When he touched the anemone with a gentle forefinger, the pale of his hand flashed pink in sharp contrast to