The Walkabout


I wake restless, knowing
Time is moving on and so must I.
In my dreams, the spirits lit the path
I must follow.

I must move on, reaching out for the land.

The dust beneath my feet
Rises up with each step
To cling, traveling with me
Along this journey.

I must move on, holding close to the land.

The sun rises behind me
An orb of expanding orange flame
Across the horizon, heating my skin
Moistening with sweat dripping.

I must move on, watering the land.

The plants, scarce, speak to me
Birds cry out as they pass over
The howling hills call to me
My throat hums with each step.

I must move on, singing with the land.

The sun sets fiery before me
Pulling me forward, my stick in hand,
Drawing me toward the end of day,
To sit quiet by flame now grounded.

I must move on, dwelling within the land.

The sickle shaped moon casts no shadow
As I wrap myself in sleep,
Wandering in my mind’s landscape
To follow where dreams lead.

I must move on, looking for another land

Another song
Another dream
Another hope
In which I can finally rest.

One thought on “The Walkabout

  1. Ah, those howling hills!!! Do they ever yell and beckon!! I understand the Australian imagery, Emily, but every bit of that relates to my growing up in Carolina!! We had droughts so severe folks swore they saw huckleberry bushes following dogs around!! Wonderful work.


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