Landscapes of my childhood
Along the white, dusty ribbon of road that runs
past the front of the Kirkpatrick farmhouse there are eucalypts. One is a battered rather crooked old apple
gum. It is still there now, it has been
there as long as I can remember sitting so close to the road it is almost
growing from it. If once white settlers
could not bear to think of these tough trees as worthy subjects for the
artist’s brush now their sparse beauty is all we need to bring us home. My child’s eye saw this tree, was drawn to
it. I was soothed by its thick sturdy
branches and familiar drooping leaves.
It’s white trunk and leathery leaves claim the stories, hold the
history, hint at memory, hope and dreaming for us all.
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