Light-fingered dawn so softly steals over
Silver-barked gums unaware of its creep.
Bird-life awakens, new day to welcome,
Night creatures scurry and safe burrows seek.
Inquisitive Bilby, homeward is trekking
Pauses to sniff on the sweet morning air,
Then hurries on, to safe burrow waiting,
The scent of a fox is screaming beware.
Down on the farm, cockerel is crowing,
Waking the workers to face a new day
To reap or to sow or simply to watch
The children, their games they begin to play.
Day creatures stir, their hunger awakening
The drive for survival renewed with the dawn.
Young mother woken by her screaming baby
Smiles at her offspring and stifles a yawn.
Sun is now rising, heat is returning
Scorching the plains where the stock try to graze
Upon sparse vegetation, dusty and barren
Sweltering already in deep morning haze.
Then, in the distance, a new sound is breaking,
Rumbles and flashes and sounds long unheard.
Everything stops, in joy and in wonder,
Rain, rain is coming! Pass on the word.
Darker and darker, the clouds they are building,
Heavy and humid and still is the air.
One drop, then two, then down in a flurry,
Splashing and flashing the children to scare.
Seven days later and rain is still falling,
The parched earth is sated, the rivers in flow,
Burrows are flooded; all dry land is taken,
Stockmen and stock have nowhere to go.
And down in the homestead the baby is crying,
A new generation born to the land
Of droughts and of floods and of infinite beauty,
The future secure in mum’s guiding hand.
Kris the Bard writes, “I am new to this dimension, this time and this country. I have travelled widely to experience my new home. Unlike Elannort with its balanced weather, the land of droughts and flooding rains is at the mercy of the climate. I am in awe of the people whose livelihoods depend on it. I respect the indigenous people of this land who have lived here for many tens of thousands of years. They may have been one of the first societies in this dimension to find real balance, before Chaos arrived.”