#124 ‘The five
seasons’
We are well into
the Wurrkal season
just after those
green grasshoppers have left us
and just as the pale
grass begins to yellow.
We’ve one more
swinging rain to come
blown in with
those low sky-wide clouds
and then the
Makurra comes in on us,
the no-feeling
season of big fires when cold
rain’s a danger
to babies and the old.
Only black-headed
pythons stay fat and juicy.
After this the
cicadas sing in the hot Parranga time.
Mushrooms will
come up, salt wattle can be eaten,
a hot wind will
blow as if from giant faraway fires.
Marrji is the
time of thunder. Animals wake up,
come out, look around
at the land, sky, lightning.
They listen to
what the thunder has to say,
it is something
about breaking the softening earth
Wuruwuru is the
season of rain. You call it Christmas,
and remember
snow. Wuruwuru is the river and the lake,
it brings the
giant frog, the biting fly, the fish, it wakes
our hearts and keeps us home all those wet days
with ourselves
beautiful stuff
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