Thursday, 1 March 2012

Dust between the creases - a snippet of memoire

When I was little I had lived in the bush, away from the main town and the prying eyes of the men and women who gossiped as they turned the goods in the shops over in their sun-withered hands. Away from them sat the little weatherboard house where our strangely shaped family lived, framed in a forest of ironbark and wattle.

Wildflowers grew with abandon, little egg and bacon bushes and flowering grasses which dotted the undergrowth, emitting rich aromas which changed every season. There was dust there too, but not this red dust, which enters a home uninvited during a storm and is found in the strangest of places for months afterwards.

There was no mirror in that little house and no need for one. Every day was a new beginning, to wake up with the rising sun, eat a quick home-cooked breakfast and head eagerly outside, leaping off the old wooden verandah and into freedom. Days disappeared in a world of my imagination where I had no need to see myself.

Copyright Sue Oaks 2012