Flying home (before the floods)

　

　

blue haze, born of clouds, filters the untouchable dull grey-green landscape below,
…so far below

dark grey cloud shadows drift
in sync with their sudsy white companions above

trees gather and disperse
across parched earth
dun brown road scars crack and shatter
going nowhere

like the marks of a potter,
the scars run deep into clay
exposing the inner

the land deserts thirsty barren plains
deserts pinched rolling hills
deserts sun flashing golden billabongs

to reinvent itself
over and over

dividing at last
into lush fields of emerald cane

I am nearly home.

the small plane dips and slides,
rocking me gently onward.