Shifting
By Barrina South
I wait
to be Welcomed
standing in front
silently, trace Country
linger
in the margins
with trained eye
measure, assess, count
no signs
wait
disorientated
nature’s magnetic forces askew
to understand connect
I step through the gilded frame
canvas stretches
feet slip across oil
on the other side
dark, temperature drops
a state of estivation
awake
cool undercurrent off the high winds
brings the smell of rain
watch the storm move across the sky
high enough to grasp the stars
from the valley floor
I hear a cry that has
circled all day
whee-la whee-la
lone dingo howl
pulls down the last of the light
a shiver runs down my spine
like a spool losing its ribbon
I sit
hands rested on knees
fingers gently dip into Country
in my mind's eye
I trace well-worn paths inhale
the smoke of the gum leaves
feed on the dark syrup of yams
listen to women sing
I drink it all in like sweet water
as the storm is about to swallow us whole
and I am lost to the mountains
imprint granite tors
with an open palm
push myself back through the gilded frame
standing in front
orientated
at ease
and magnetic forces aligned