In The Vague Vicinity Of Yass Junction - Guest Post

This is my place, My country,

Coming home once more,

Leaden clouds scud fitfully,

The granite and grey gums O'er.

Rainbow's shimmer, for a short and beckoning glimmer,

Invisible, Mighty, Snowy Mountain Wind roars.

The greys, the greens, the blues and white,

Merge together in Snow Gum, rain, hill and sandy creek shore.

Sheep huddle restlessly beneath greeny-grey hail cloud light.

A piercing, lone ray of bright sunlight illumines a gale battling magpie,

Eerily rattles, scuffles, shakes, the Wind of the Snowys in the dark trees;

Creek water shimmers, sings and tumbles, down to calm, reflecting the sullen sky.

Flocks of jewels, birds, rise, glide, fly, and away, away wing.

Echoing the rhythmic, incessant cry of the Loco as it rolls away on down,

Rain caresses the window, road bells ring, as though to sing,

"We're rattling on homeward, there's nothing like Homewood,

On our way, on our way, homeward from town."

By Seaghdha Rose Bailey