Today the sky is blue. The clouds are thick. White. The Buffel looks like discarded straw. Moisture is minimal.
The fence stands strong. Four barbs with wooden posts in the black soil. It stands strong, against the odds.
If that fence could talk, what would it say?
In recent years it could describe the Station employees and their work ethics. The colour of their shirts as they bounce past on the nearby track, one elbow protruding from the window frame as they casually rest their hand on the steering wheel.
It could use several kinds of adjectives, I’m sure – to describe what it has seen – heard on the wind and carried from the nearby shed and its activities.
In the mornings, and again in the afternoon, it watches a frazzled parent, relative or Nanny high-tailing it to meet the school bus. The tell-tale signs of the rush out the door still etched in the furrow of the driver’s brow. The youngest of the children probably wave….or smear Vegemite on the window – Same! Same!
It silently counts the increase in traffic as the local mining industry booms. Bitumen over yonder would be nice. Less dust to be collected in my splintering Gidgee.
The seasons pass. Not four, but two. It’s hot or it’s cold. There’s not much in between.
The fence stands strong. Four barbs with wooden posts in the black soil. It stands strong, against the odds.
Glimpses of Lately 