Christmas Day

The season is here, as we cook for 600 when only about 30 will be coming for lunch.
Dad is only ashes so he can’t have a drink, so Mum gets the box with him in it and has a drink.
The siblings are at it, as the hunger pains start roaring, and the little children have turned into terrors.
Over the pond, they’ll be as cold as a bear; yet here it is mild, and the sun shines a bit.
The BBQ is running, and the men gather around for it’s a team effort out there to ensure the meat isn’t charred.
Bossy boots orders everyone around in the kitchen, so Mum takes Dad and flops on to the couch.
Lunch will be served soon enough, yet there’s always time for a chocolate or two, a mince pie, white Christmas, a rum ball or two, strawberries with cream, a tea or two, a coffee, some punch, biscuits, and, and …
Lunch is served, and the chatter runs wild; no one says grace because this isn’t the Lord’s day, it’s only Christmas Day.

This Land

Moving in the wind,
the full fabric moves
in this ancient place.

Burning heat sears all,
as the sun burns down
upon this arid land.

Colours of the Earth,
different burnt colours
not shades to dispute.

No European delicacies
need remain here,
for the sun burns it all.

Singing moves on the wind,
an ancient song forbidden,
to pay tribute to this land.

Australien Sun

My childhood home for a time in Mareeba.

Sometimes, when she sits on the step, she thinks about places and how they connect us to memories, as does music and scent.

Her mind drifts back to the cool water of Nelson Bay and the pretty lighthouse on the hill; Connected to her sister deep in thought.

Thoughts of grey days with coffee on every corner, a European feel, and a charm only Melbourne emits; Connected to her childhood home.

Thinking about younger days with a hammer for macadamia nuts and corkscrews for coconut eyes in Mareeba; Connected to her origins.

The memories play behind her eyes as she looks at the red dirt full of cracks under the Australien sun.

The Alps

They stand hand in hand taking in the beauty of the Alps.

Reflective and oddly calm, she says, “Up here, the world is crisp and clean. You and I can talk without the madness of society getting in the way… Don’t you love the way the snow sits upon the mountains, yet the sun still shines, and it isn’t too cold?

He pauses for a few moments to breathe in the crisp air, “It’s beautiful for an Autumn day… the light, it’s welcomed here and not despised… I could live in this country…

She looks at him and smiles, so he adds, “The sun feels different in Australia compared to Switzerland… Perhaps it is weaker?

She squeezes his hand, and he kisses her forehead. She adds, “Yes… it feels fainter… let’s stay a little longer.