Monday, May 23, 2011

Woolamai

Drove south on the highway
Clouds a thin veil in the sky
Listened to the radio
and one another's stories
They seem to never end
Through the fields and forests
We push on 
Island reached by bridge
Motorcycle, surfing paradise
Information centre
What is that incessant beeping?
On the road again
Through the rolling hills
Past beaches and ice cream stands
To a pub in a town that looks like
the place where I grew up
One horse, one street, one choice
For everything
An architectural, fashion disaster
A dock where a boy is a fishing master
Little creatures and deep fried features
We leave for the point where the seals lay
The wind blows your hair
The tall grass, an echidna digs in secret
We learn about dolphins and Bass Straight
The last stop on the island
A beach where the water crashes
Sea foam, blue, green
We look up and down the coast
Surfers roll in with the waves
An audience stands in the sands
Others change and rest in their vans
We shoot some pictures
Taste the salt
The setting Sun finds its' way to the horizon
Bleached blonde billabong beach 
We have reached the end of the isle
The miles between us and the city are many
It starts to get dark
We leave the park
The island
The sand 
In the car
From our boots
finds it's way back
to our roots
The Sea

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