-5; 100 WASTED TIK TOK MOMENTS

reverendhellfire

February 19

There has been no Sunday Sermon of late as the Reverend has been too sad & depressed by a combination of der Weltschmerz & personal tragedy. Though still traumatised, the Reverend has declared that, "I could pour my pain out in Art, but looking around I see everyone else is barely coping too, so taking pity on the Gentle Reader, we shall escape briefly into the Real World with some fieldnotes from a recent healing Journey

to sacred Minjerribah Island. Enjoy..

100 WASTED TIK TOK MOMENTS

Today I decided it was time to Get Real.

Turned the Radio off,

left the laptop behind

and the Phone uncharged.

Took a Road Trip to the Sea. Rode

the Ferry across the choppy Bay,

stood in the bows & felt the Spray

as we chugged and dipped past

Mangrove covered islands strewn

like Emeralds across the waters/

The Launch decanted passengers onto the Jetty,

Island Time washed over us as we stood

waiting for the bus by the Cemetery,

moss-covered headstones/graves covered

by seashells and dead childrens toys/

above the bus-stop an ancient Gum Tree,

knotted and boled/ where, in the hollowed out stumps

of long vanished branches, dusty pink Galahs nested,

emerging comically from their home,

crarrking and clakking in fussy domesticity.

The bus winds through the lush, sub-tropical bushscape

humming with insect life, leaving "Civilisation" behind us ( not

a traffic light on the whole damned Island)/ a cabin beneath the trees

and a sandy track down to the sandy shore./

Walking to the beach through a cluster of classic fibro holiday shacks

painted pink & blue & grey in faded seaside pastels &

from the materials and construction techniques (primitive)

dating mostly to the sixties/fifties. (Surely the largest concentration

of still extant in situ, fibro houses in Australia, I thought,

and thus probably Heritage Listed & Protected.

Most such structures suffer a worse fate

under current modern day Public-Liability determined

local government Policies, generally along the lines

of termination with extreme prejaudice

by overly-cautious demolitionists in Bio-Hazard suits.

Such is the Fashion these days.

Happily, Nostalgia for the Fifties has preserved

this toxic remnant of our Rich Cultural Heritage.

As the Sun approaches the horizon, I wheel through the stately movements of Tai Chi on

a long spit of sand running out to sea that appears before me as the Tide retreats/ Clambering up the Rocky Headland, chatting amiably to Strangers, I persuade a Lady with a Ukelele to play & sing "Tip-Toe thru the Tulips" while I dance and caper on the rocks like a goat

and sing along happily in Basso Profundo/

A blue sky framed by the delicate foliage of She-Oaks,

as I lie in the dappled shade & doze/

Sunset and the white caps turn golden

on the leaping waves as a vast Pod of Whales

snort & sport, spray & play, breaking through

the Waters in gargantuan frolic. An awesome sight!

A whale erupts out of the water right before me in a tower of spray, as he falls back he waves a friendly pectoral fin as if in Greeting!

So many whales migrating before me,

as far as the eye can see!

Barnacle covered Barnacles,

overlay the Barnacle covered rocks,

layer upon layer of encrustation,

accrued over the decades..

a sea-eagle soars above me, hovering on the sea-breeze,

as I wander among the rock pools,

sea-squirts open their star shaped throats,

I tickle them so see them quickly shut up shop and sink back into the rocks/ pinky-orange hued sea anenomes wave enticingly with their poisonous fronds/ delicate seasnails inching trails along the soft sands/

a rockpool lined & littered with discarded sea-shells,

each with an indentical tiny hole drilled

by the needle-tipped tentacles of questing Octopi/

Night comes,

Darkness falls,

the Stars emerge.

Walking home from the shop I get lost

whilst amiably chatting with Strangers again.

When we part ways I realise that I've come the wrong way in my Sociability. A lack of distinguishing landmarks amongst the warm & gently shadowed streets, the soft, orange light of the occasional street lamp, the omnipresent sound of the surf, all conspire to envelop me

in a mild & vaguely pleasant confusion..

Using the lighthouse on the hill as a guide

I eventually find my way home

without getting wrecked on the rocks/

Later I slip out from the cabin after Midnight

for a quiet & solitary smoke beneath the Stars. I sniff the salt scented air appreciatively and as my eyes adjust to the darkness, I am suddenly aware of

hunched forms emerging all around me on the lawn.

They are moving!

Though briefly startled by this unexpected manifestation, I soon realise that I am surrounded by Kangaroos, just at the same moment as they all abruptly decide to depart,

in a soft & sudden explosion

of thump, thump thumping down the road!

Far from the City lights that drain the Sky

of it's bright & brilliant Stars,

turning the night into one, long, bleak

and washed out dusk that never fades,

yet again I find myself stunned with awe

at the overwhelming Majesty of the Milky Way,

even after over sixty years

of staring with wonder at the night sky.