Thursday, May 30, 2013

I was going somewhere with this.....

then my brain got side-tracked and totally forgot.  So you're getting poetry instead.  And a photo.

Dangar Gorge

We stand
halfway down the gorge
it is absolute, and we
mere climbing animals.
All about it circles,
engulfing the stream that falls
far into prehistory.
The rock is red and dark:
uncanny ironstone
exposed to weather, and becoming shapes
as light and shadow in a secret well
deeper, and clearer, and more quiet than time.
The creekbed track that brought us here
trespassed on grave New England farms;
bulls grudged us passage to this place
where trees bind the precipice.  It all
could be a great pitcher at which
not gods now, but piping bellbirds
come to drink, to
dwell inside the mountain.

                                    - Michael Dransfield (Streets of the Long Voyage)

Yep, Dangar Falls, just outside Dorrigo.

No comments:

Post a Comment

I post and check this blog very erratically (if you hadn't already guessed). Thank you for reading!