Intuitive in the mode of passion
The Blog of Dr. Janelle Trees
If you’ve been in a car with Aboriginal hunters, you’ll know the way they can see a snake or lizard, or something else good for cooking, on a stony gibber plain, perhaps two hundred metres from the road.
What a mess you can get yourself into, stealing so that you can inject chemicals to feel like you got a hug. That’s about as lonely as it gets.
The pounding of the waves on the rocks below, so soothing to my ears, must have become horrible to some of the men imprisoned there.
‘Great clouds of yellow pollen moved through the air like huge, transparent fish. The chairs and tables on the terrace were covered in layers of the sweet-smelling gold powder.’
I haven’t always found Customs Officers friendly. When I was a twenty-year-old kajal-eyed traveller from India, Australian Customs cut my soap open.
‘I tried to imagine an easeful death, just stepping through a door, as they say.’
There has been a death in the family. There will be no blog post this fortnight. I'll write again as usual on or before May 19. Claudia and I are grieving and okay. Thanks for being there.
Ropehair began to dream of a garden. At night, when the stars were brilliant, I could feel her happiness as she imagined food growing from the red desert earth.
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Banner photo of Uluru sunset by Grant McIver
© 2015 - 2018 by Janelle Trees. All rights reserved.