(header photographs by Harry Waite 1912-2011)

The Myth of the Sacred Brumby






A Casual Conservation
"Hey you, greenie, high up in the tree
Wonít you come down and talk with me?"
"Not I!" said the greenie, "I do know the score
And it would be a crime to comply with the law:
I know my own mind, and I know that for sure
Iíd rather be here than behind a cell door.
I know itís your job to open the way
So the loggers can come and start earning their pay,
So Iíll stay up here on my platform high
So they canít cut this forest and make it die.
If I have to Iíll stay for a year and a day,
Or as long as it takes for the government to say
That the forest can stand, so the trees can live:
What greater gift could the government give
To the forest, the country, our planet as a whole?
So Iíll sit in this tree till I reach that goal.
So be gone now officer, you will do no good,
Take my advice, you really should,
Youíll never sway me from this everlasting fight
Or cart me off to jail with your violence and might.
You could drag me from here to suffer in your cell
Thinking you are doing your job very well,
But is doing your job really all that matters
When the heart of the earth is being torn to tatters?
The friends of the earth are friends in its need,
Donít obey the masters of corporate greed."
"Stay there if you must," the policeman said at last,
"I hear what you say, that the planetís dying fast,
But you have to understand that arrest you I must
Your faith is in the earth, but in laws I trust
At the end of the day I will lock you up in gaol,
Itís not that I personally want your cause to fail,
Though your actions break the letter of the law
They uphold the common duty all the more,
More power to you friend, in your tree sit high;
Your feet arenít on the ground, but your heart is in the sky."
Then he left me sitting in the branches of my tree
And I wondered, were we pawns of a common enemy?
Forested Friendships
At times the job can be done in a subtle way,
No need for winners or losers at end of day,
We do our job and they can earn their pay.
When push came to shove, that day all of us won.
Why should we bake under a blistering sun
When we could be at the pub, having some fun?
For when, in the end, we go forth to tally the score
Could either side have done all that much more? -
Whether sitting in the pub, or on the forest floor?
A day of mates drinking, in lounge and in bar,
And mates, I am thinking, they were and still are,
For friendship sake why not leave the door ajar?
Were they really our enemies, people to fight? -
Who saw the trees in a somewhat different light?
Better to drink with a man than despise him on sight.
For a stranger is a friend you are yet to meet,
So even opponents you should remember to greet
Or it might be yourself that you happen to cheat.
Of the chance of finding a new hand you can shake,
The hand of a person who could very well make
Your journey through this world a little easier to take.
And that is what each of us should be aiming to do
Each day ó trying to make a friend of someone new;
Is a friend not someone who will always be true?
Cathartic Rhthyms
A cathartic rhythm washes over my soul,
In the mosaic of the forest Iím a segment of the whole.
Far from the cityís furore, I find my inner calm
Soothing the demons in my mind with natureís balm.
I stand beneath a waterfall; a cacophony of sound,
The torrent on my body is an ecstasy unbound,
Rippling through my body, through the forest and the glade,
I know my soul is meant for this; the reason I was made.
Itís as though a spirit lifts me up, a pinpoint in the sky,
My heart unfolds its fledgling wings and learns that it can fly.
Such things, and more, are natureís gifts, far from city lights
Where I can gaze in awe upon the wondrous starry nights
That glorify the skies where it is clear enough to see:
In the wilderness where my spirit loves to wander, wild and free.