Bunjil created this dreaming

a crash of thunder and a hurling star

threw a landscape of beauty, and plenty

that would stand for millions of years

gold bought them in and broke them

the micks, the chinks, the poms

I see their ghosts running through the forest

that consumes the evidence of their passing

as mines and sheds and steel succumb to natures endeavors

Clara, Boyd and Tucker

painted wattles gold

growing through history to create a wedge of green

a contested space, the cities lungs

a forest breathes life and fire

glowing with the bright and blinding light of an Australian summer

and still the river flows ever onward

washing away the forests tears

and it’s struggle to make us love it

so it can love us in return

Image: Warrandyte, Victoria