Sacred places abound
in this ancient continent.
Caves with ochre painted
figures storyboarded on walls,
mountains, scrub plains
and rock pools glistening
in the sun seared outback
where spirits come
to bathe at night
in the cool, clear water.
The land here has never
been roused from its dream.
Creation continues to write
its story in the rocks and the dry,
red earth and on the bark
of ghost gums standing
in the silence.
But something is wrong.
There are places
where each taken step sets
a tremble upon the ground
as if beneath human feet
sleeps something terrifying,
bigger than a buried mountain.
Late at night in the starlit air
you can hear it breathe.
Listen….. listen.
The land calls,
beckoning us in whispers,
warning us, reaching out
to the sacred places
in our own souls.
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