Just back from a few days at one of my favourite getaways, I thought I’d share with you a fragment inspired on my last visit and published in my book Chapter & Verse.

Deserted beach
A scimitar of gleaming sand laid with careless precision
between the dancing blue and the greys and greens.
She-oaks mock the wind with their compliant song of sighs
but stolid cypress stand their guardian ground.
I walk a beach so long and lovely that I fear for its survival
against the sea change tide. and selfish, claim it for my own.
So for this day, this moment, all is mine and I give thanks
for every grain and shell, for every rivulet of the receding tide.

Sure, the sea change has made some inroads since then, and cheques
with lots of zeros are now being written for beachfront properties, but so
far, the beach is still a special place.

On my last morning, two dolphins put on a marine pas de
deux that delighted the spectators …all three of us. Yes, it’s that sort of
beach. Often, you can be the only one it, at least as far as the eye can see.

So where is it? Well let’s just say it’s within a few hours drive of where I’m writing this. Treasures like it are worth the search, so by all means hunt it down, but please don’t tell too many others, or I may have to change the name of the poem.

What happened to rail as a transport option?
Returning down the Bruce Highway on Thursday, I was astonished
by the number of semi- trailers and B-doubles on the road. What ever
became of rail as our chief and cheapest transporter of goods?

With fuel, registration and insurance costs going through the roofs of
the big road rigs, we’d better get used to the idea of price rises for just
about everything.

And listening to a small-hours ABC radio program this morning
Brought home to me our dependence on the truckies who bring us all the
stuff we take for granted.

There’s still the odd cowboy at the wheel, but the bad old pill-popping days have gone, and most of the drivers seem to be 50-ish family men who just want to do their job and get home safely, so with a bit of courtesy and understanding, let’s help them keep on truckin’.

And Another Thing: Catching up after my break from reading newspapers, I came across a letter in the Daily from Yandina’s Judith
Rowe, who would like to see brown paper shopping bags make a
comeback. From recycled paper, of course.

So would I, Judith, but even more, I yearn for the return of the humble
old string bag. Small enough to be stuffed into a handbag, or even a
pocket in my case, it stretched out to an amazing capacity when filled,
it was forgiving of awkward shapes, and it never split or broke down
when wet. Bring it back, I say.

rich.29@bigpond.net.au