Country goodbye

Country goodbye

Golden memories abound here, accentuated by the view across the paddocks in the early afternoon. A painter’s palette on fire, copper tones blend with a burst of yellow wattle that hints of spring. Flies buzz, birds tweet and whistle, and the squeak of a pre-war, rusty wheelbarrow heading to unload for the last bonfire all murmur cathartic sounds. Do we dare throw the Hammond organ in the fire? I allow myself one last solitary walk across the paddocks amidst the hidden memories where the old tyre used to swing. Half-built dreams, a half-built mud brick house with an underground cellar, where is that? I look, but only find the mud brick steps, and underneath these steps a passage that may connect with the cellar somewhere further along. Where’s the abandoned piano...