and we would get up early
so early that the stars
would still sit high
in the dark night sky

we would drink milo
out of plastic cups
and eat oval arrowroot biscuits
spread thickly with butter

we would line up to go to the loo
one last time before piling into
the old car, sliding across bench seats
half our world packed into the boot

then we were off, on the old country roads
still sleepy for the first couple of towns
stopping at Jacaranda for a cup of tea
lukewarm, milky and sweet from the thermos
half a cheese sandwich each, and a fearful trip
to the draughty long drop toilet...looking for redbacks
the whole time, but only finding spinning daddy long legs

after that back into the car, for two hours of
winding our way down, the big hill,
listening for the clearnote  call of the bellbird,
watching for wallabies and wombats on the road fringe
and the bigger kangaroos, bouncing away
across the clearings...

at the bottom of the hill, Grafton a quick stop
to stretch our legs eat the cupcake,
used to bribe us into decent behavior up to that point
and another vist to the conveniences.
before the run down the coast,
past the big white resort
and into Brooms Head,
for a week of surf and sun
fish and chips, buckets of prawns,
frosty fruits and sunny boys
in tent and caravan,  
swimmers and towels,
we were tribal and free,
roaming the tideline
staying up at the campfire,
sleeping and waking
with the birds......
always such an adventure....
those idyllic days of summer

she sneezesas the breezes
carry the pollen to her nostrils

she  is small
and somewhat frail
but  when she sneezes
she creates more than breezes
she makes a gale

and the noise is like thunder
as her lungs do the rumba
all in order  to expell
the pollen from her being

her eyes cross
and fixate
on an ephemeral state
in order to calibrate
the legnth of the ah
in her ah-choo

sometimes it is
large and elongated
sometimes small delicate statacco
and then again it may be somewhere
in between the two

and after she sneezes and gales
and wheezes...she seems stunned
by the fuss and disharmony
she created by nasal cacophony

and in her daze, the taps
her nose and says quite clearly

good old faithful....
                           .....thar she blows

acidic
tomatoes
sunshine's fruit
sliced thinly
on crusty
olive bread
bursting now
on my tongue
simply
taking me
to heaven

the god boy, grows a pace
no longer small, squalling child

now showing a fierce independent streak
that causes pride and fear in equal amounts

it is hard to balance the need to learn
and the need to teach...to protect
we fail the balance regularly
yet are fortunate to have suffered
no great ..... or lasting consequence

his greatest attribute,
our greatest joy
his sunny side up,
the ability to always,
see the best
in everything.....
eventually

as we slow and grey,
he seems brighter,
more intense...
gathering colur into him
only to give it out...
in a argent radience
that is contagious...
in  it's beauty

of course,
he has his flaws
my child,
is far from perfect
like his father,
his floor is his wardrobe
and like his mother
he is prone to losing himself
in bookworlds, while mundane
chores await..

but he is both the worst and the best of us

and more importantly
he is himself....forging
and identity and entity
bourne of love and compassion

and honestly
as a mother godess
and as a father god

there is naught more
we could wont
or ask for...