Sun comes up over city lights.
Street urchins devoured the night.
One person peering out the window sees
another person doing the same
five meters away
yet we’ll never speak to each other
or know each other’s names…
The city scape isn’t daunting
like the desolating landscape of the country.
In both places though,
the sunrises are lovely.
Life’s a treat.
Let’s go out and wander the streets,
find some decent eats,
dodge the street sweepers,
say hello to the street sleepers,
never know who you might meet.
However many million men, women and children,
life can be resilient
in the heart of the city.
I dreamt that I was here
walking down pavements and alleys,
writing in hideaway cafes,
making myself happy
The Nullarbor Plain: it’s that stretch of semi-arid landscape, on the coast between the desert and the coast on the Great Australian Bight, where the sky opens up and the horizon appears unreachable. It’s a place where the wind is hollow and an echo could ring out for a day, without another living soul having heard it. It’s where the road, an endless black ribbon, unravels beneath the feet and wheels of those who travel it, and fragments of the past, ghosts of history, linger in the bristling calm.
Blitzing across this flat land, we are not oblivious to its mysteries, but we are genetically unequipped to understand them. Alone or in company, it’s only natural to run out of things to talk about. We hurtle along, silent, invincible, but relatively insignificant. The sun hunts us as we speed due west, but out here, it always beats you to that line between the land and the sky.