Red sand, 4 wheel drives, goanna’s on the run, Life in the Australian bush is known for being fun! Big Red Kangaroos, and emus running by, While a mighty wedge tail eagle soars up in the clear blue sky!
Whilst for the most life in the bush is sweet to say the least, Unless it happens to be midsummer… post rain… and the mozzies start to feast. Thus there’s a very valid reason the tourists tend to come round June, Summer can be down right dangerous despite natures sweet tune.
For when the rain deluges in horizontal, blowing everything askew, And goanna’s decide to accompany you when you happen to use the loo, Whilst venomous snakes move into the garden as if invited right on cue, And you can’t venture through a doorway without checking for; An abundance of creatures that could be lurking to fall on you… Not to mention the array of spiders which after all that don’t seem so bad, And the flies that when mixed with heat and dust are near enough to send one mad.
Though if perchance you can handle enduring all of that, The great Australian outback can be a blast (just don’t forget a solid hat). With many an adventure awaiting all whom dare, And for those of us that live out here that’s everyday with flare, For the vast Aussie bushland is abundant with ever changing beauty and grace, One just need remember to stay diligently mindful or she’ll fast put you in your place.
Christmas ’twas mere days away, As the Bushman sat present wrapping, Singing classic Christmas carols, To which his foot ’twas tapping.
When something through a window, Distracted his concentrating eye, Curiously the Bushman ventured closer, As his startled horse reared to the sky.
There on his verandah stood, Much to the Bushman’s surprise, A six foot plus white kangaroo, With piercing sky blue eyes.
Not far away ’twas another, Whose leg appeared to be injured, Then a third wearing a harness, Made the scene seem completely absurd!
Three snowy white kangaroos, The Bushman thought he was dreaming! ’Till he tripped over his poor dogs tail, Whom let out his version of surprised screaming.
Then up hopped a fourth kangaroo, To see what had caused all the matter, A fifth dragging a leather strap, Followed with a bit of a clatter.
The Bushman looked from roo to roo, Trying to figure it all out, When a large man in a big red suit, Came out of the bush giving a shout:
‘Ho, Ho, Hello there my friend. My aircraft’s crashed just through there, Most of my boomers got away okay, But could you help me get back in the air?’
The Bushman couldn’t believe his eye’s, Here was Santa asking for his help, ‘Certainly’ was all he could manage to say, Whilst his dog gave him an encouraging yelp.
Not too far off the Bushman’s homestead, Santa’s sleigh ’twas caught up in the top of a gumtree, A sixth kangaroo in a harness was dangling, Thus getting him down unscathed was the key.
The Bushman soon knew what to do, Dashed back home to get some supplies, Whilst a flock of birds in the trees overhead, Sang loudly their mocking song cries.
‘Twasn’t long ‘till the Bushman returned, With ropes and his trusty chestnut horse, They tied and swung them over nearby trees, And securely to the sleigh of course!
After lowering down the last kangaroo, They slowly lowered Santa’s sleigh, Tended all the kangaroo’s injuries, ‘Fore Santa went up upon his way.
Soon ’twas Christmas eve, And snuggled by the fireplace, The Bushman and his beloved lady, Were discussing Santa’s big worldwide race.
When from overhead they heard crystal clear: ‘HO HO HO HO HELLO! MERRY CHRISTMAS TO YOU, BUSHMAN, THANKS FOR ALL YOUR HELP, IN MAKING DREAMS WORLD WIDE COME TRUE!’
The Bushman’s Lady sat watching in disbelief, As presents then appeared beneath their tree, Whilst sounds of sleigh bells rang through the sky, Filling the surrounding bushland with magic and glee.
With the water becoming scarce, And the temperature arising, A Galah flock found themselves a quite pool, In which they engulfed quite unsurprising.
Soon there was a grey/pink cloud, Covering most of the ground & blue sky overhead, Drinking the water in the pool however, Would find quite a few sick or dead..
Yet they stayed on poolside, As if their party must go on, Screeching their song be it an almighty din, Dancing through each day so long.
Like most parties this one has its characters, The lifeguard, the clown, the quiet one in a corner, Those that are boldly in the spotlight, Or on the fence along the border.
‘Till at last the party’s over for the day, All fly off to where they roost, Resting quietly ‘till dawning light, Finding fresh water’s sure to be a boost.
Blistering sun & scorching ground,
Often little water to be found,
Imaginations needed to reprieve,
One suffering ‘till the sun’s rays leave.
Some retreat to an underground home,
‘Till nightfall makes it cool to roam,
Others can be found in or beneath trees,
Allowing the flora the heat to ease.
Yet even they struggle come afternoon,
Wishing ‘twas eve with a cooling moon,
Wishing moisture to come sooner than nightfall,
To replenish the physical beings of all.
Yet as the sun starts to set,
A lot of creatures find some place wet,
Easing the heat/dust/stress of the day,
Before into the dark they venture to work/eat/play.
Fields, plains, paddocks vast,
Dust overtaking all ‘till clouds rain’s cast,
Yet at first not near enough to reduce dust blast,
By the slightest of wind’s breeze fast.
Until finally enough rain may fall,
To satisfy the vast quench of all,
Be they the tiniest of insects so small,
Or mightiest of ancient trees strong and tall.
Before one’s eye’s what was once dust,
Into it’s rejuvenation cycle ‘tis thrust,
Where witnesses may finally see greenery unfurl with lust,
That sprouts and blooms from the Earth’s very crust.
‘Till all appears oasis lush,
Replenished tree’s and blooming bush,
Flowers and grass thriving seemingly in a rush,
Yet without ongoing abundance - all back to dust it shall just crush.
Early on one hot summer morn,
The Bushman sat a’ reading,
Contemplating his week ahead,
And to what his stock he’d be feeding.
The Newspaper covering his district,
’twas always good to read,
filled with news and an array of content,
from sports ’n’ yarns, to ‘How to Succeed’.
Sunshine ’twas predicted once again,
On the forecast charts of that paper,
’twas all they’d said four months in a row,
The Bushman pondered the whole caper.
Putting down the paper sighing,
The Bushman saddled up his horse,
Rode out to check his struggling heard,
Of which drought was dwindling in its force.
Yet he loped them down more branches,
Refilled their dry water troughs,
Heaved motherless calves o’er his saddle,
taking them home with dust filled coughs.
Day after day he continued,
Physical exhaustion taking it’s toll,
Stock feed becoming rather scarce,
Buying hay had became his moneys role.
Then late one November evening,
After the sun had sunk in the sky,
The Bushman ’twas riding homebound,
When a raindrop fell above his eye.
Soon ’twas followed by thousands more,
Raining hard that whole night long,
Next morn there was a wondrous sight,
All the thick powdery dust now long gone.
Dark grey clouds still loomed over head,
yet The Bushman’s mood was bright,
Water tanks and dams were overflowing,
The now running creek sparkled in the sunlight.
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To Find out what fun The Bushman has in the mud, where his stallion seeks shelter, and more please venture through the portal below where one can also find the full reading of this messy adventure!
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The Poetic Life 2.0 