Intuitive in the mode of passion
The Blog of Dr. Janelle Trees
My friend sounded like some kind of bitter extremist. Even if I knew she was right, she was spoiling our fun.
We’d pull up in the middle of the road to talk to other people driving their cars around, in case something happened.
I don't believe the plastic bags under the kitchen bench have consciousness. But I could believe it of the exquisite old wooden table on which I type.
My Aboriginal grandfather didn’t want to be buried in a graveyard with a headstone after he died. “Put me up in a tree,” he said, “Like the old people did.”“They put dead bodies up in a tree?” I was incredulous.
Broome was the first place I saw hot pink frangipanis – their perfume swelling up in the waves of midday heat
There are those who use the old names in the pursuit of a misguided principle — that English speakers have a right to hegemony, to be the unquestioned namers of everything on the Australian islands.
"I felt something on the top of my head.” Claudia said, “A claw scratching on my skull! I was terrified!"
“The Rock protects itself,” said our Anangu friend. According to him, anyone who did ignorant, disrespectful things to Uluru or Kata Tjuta would suffer mental illness in later years.
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Banner photo of Uluru sunset by Grant McIver
© 2015 - 2017 by Janelle Trees. All rights reserved.