Dawn Star

Dawn Star

“The truth is of course is that there is no journey. We are arriving and departing all the time same time. “ David Bowie

The past month marks the passing of some notables, we know to have been notable such as David Bowie and Alan Rickman. Tributes have filled the twittersphere, the newsrooms and pages of Facebook. It is a sad sting. It is even sad when death is presented to us like this at arm’s length. Most of the world, including myself, live “ordinary” lives (or seemingly so anyway) and we look as voyeurs do from afar into the hearts and minds of those who by way of aptitude, talent and good fortune, make their way to a life where upon death everyone will remember them. And we do. And we should for remembering is reverence to what was possible and remembering is good because sometimes it seems quite impossible to appreciate and take in all at once, the beauty of someone we admire or someone we love right then as they are living. And that’s because we forget to remember the wonder of every offering that human life is bringing home as a gift on the door-step.

I cry a lot. I’ve always been this way. I’m not ashamed to say so. I cried at the passing of people I never truly knew this month and I also cried remembering those I truly did love in life who have been lost to me. I have an elderly neighbour. We share a fence. It’s a strange structure given the relationship. Two years ago or so, she lost her husband. He was a loving, gentle, kind, spirit. He was the sort of man you might call humble. He was definitely the sought of man you would call beautiful. He was a beautiful man. He was the sort of man who worked very hard, starting with nothing in this country but love and a suitcase of clothes. He built, step by step, a life and a family. When this man died, my neighbour mourned his passing in a way that was both heartbreaking and a great lesson. Many mornings and many nights, more often the nights, I would hear this lady crying with her arms cast up and open into the sky, wailing, calling his name. It was unashamed and real and lonely. And it happened every day for a long time, in the sunshine, in the rain and all of everything in between. Some days I would stop in for incredible coffee and cakes so baked in tradition and loving reminders I don’t really think I could ever replicate the taste because of that. And it was then that she told me her story, the story of her beginning, of her courtship, her marriage, children, grandchildren, of success of not too many regrets. And often and always come to think of it, this woman would grab my hand and plead with me to remember him;

“Do you remember him? Do you still remember him? He was a wonderful man. Do you understand? Do you know that? Will you remember him too?”

And I would say;

“Yes! Of course we remember him. I will remember him for you too.”

And it seemed to me in those moments;

“That memory yearned to join the centre, a limb, remembering the body from which it had been severed ...” Derek Walcott

And because of that I wanted to remember too and the memories we re-made in her little cottage were as loud and important to her as a rock concert, as a grand feature film as any great work of art. Because to her, he was everything and he was forever.

Little Owl

Hey,
Little Owl
Little stealth
Little courage
There's a peace about you
Little silent wings
Little vigil
Little truth
Little secret
Clever calm,
Watchful eye
Focal light
and
Messenger.


Hey,
Little Owl
All wide oracle eyes
All vision
Even without very much bright
Little tranquil heart
Little enduring hunger
and
Patient
that little spirit.

Hey little owl
perched in forest lungs
and lofty gables

to dare, to will, to know
To unveil trickery
Is that
Little owl
That little beauty
All wild freedom
All wide wonder
Little owl
Little fawn feathers
Little dear heart
Soulful guardian

Hey,
little owl
Stay a while
Hey....

Eucalyptus Vapor Love

I can see the water from here. The trees, big gums, in front, look much bigger and the ocean small. It's like a mirage that the ocean isn't too far out of reach. It's the way you feel when it all seems impossible but you manage to believe in possibilities, even though it's vastly hard to do. I like gum trees. The way of a gum is all strong in the trunk and big arms and the leaves look soft blowing up near a blue sky. In all the world I love the smell of gum leaves most. The Australian sky can get real blue, all clear indigo and turquoise beauty. It's that kind of blue I haven't seen in the same way anywhere else, when it's so hot there's ripples of blurred air around plants and people. All the colours are bright with clear edges up higher so you have to look up a bit sometimes to appreciate the best parts and the leaves are like feathers from a distance when a soft wave of warm comes in. But when you go to pick up a leaf from the gum, it's strong anyway. The backbone stem is solid. The leaf is curved. The smell is Mum's hands putting Vicks on my chest when struggling with childhood asthma. The smell is associated with comfort and a little bit about wanting, but not too much, because there's a sense someone is already giving you so much anyway in that moment when it would be easy to feel too tired or selfish to care. The leaf is strong. It's green and smooth and lovely. So, when I'm in the bush, always, I'll pick one up.   Every time. You can rely on finding one too in the bush. Gum trees are great survivors. They sprout out of black like you wouldn't believe. You can have charcoal and grey and dust and nothing and then up pops a little sapling from a seed pod and so quick the climbers shoot upwards. Gumtrees usually shoot for the sky. You can understand why. My favourite styles are those with layers of multi- shade bark. As a little girl I studied trees for fun. I'm not sure that's very interesting but you can't help what you love. Why would I have done that? Trees are often so tall and little girls so small. I think that's perhaps why. There's something about sitting with your back against a tree that feels better than a chair. Did you ever meet someone who you thought would be exactly that feeling every day? That's love. It's not cutting off limbs. It's not tearing down growth. It's solid. It's beautiful.

Jonathan

For Jonathan Pitre

Jonathan

We saw him,

All grit and guts

And fortitude

All punishing pain

All orange fight

A battler

But contender

All Knowing sparks

All beautiful cinnamon smile after tasting something knew

He was like watching ice hockey in winter

With the barn burning

High scores

He was all maple leaves in fall

Vibrant fun and fierce

All sweet butterfly heart and peaceful marrow

And I might have been too sad

That scores could be uneven from one to another

But he wouldn’t let us see walls or haven’t

As much as

Willing and wanting time

And being bright

And then we wanted that too....