Caught between nomadic & transient tales, and the odd poem knot. Nothing grand, just worlds, thoughts, and the occasional short piece of chaos.
Originally growing up in a small town (more like a village) on the central highlands of Queensland, where the rain doesn’t fall much, and water from near by creeks, runs a rich red-brown colour across a vast expanse of country. Having three brothers and one sister, all of which are now scattered through out the globe now, the local bushland was their playground, a land of made up stories and countless days of fun.
Skipping along to 1987, where the world felt like it changed a lot, last year of high school, my mother lost the battle for her health, the world of working for a living was at the doorstep. Three other siblings were still going through school, and an elder brother was living and working at the edge of the South-Western highlands, where on occasions the waters can run fast and deep.
Well that was how things started out, soon I was off to the city, off to become a nurse. A few things changed along the way though, the first six months I spent homeless, sleeping on peoples’ floors, looking for employment, and having a look around. As coming from a small town of maybe 200 people on a good day, things were a little different in the city, kind of novel.
Walking the night ; is about some of the experience of the first city job, mainly the walking home part, as it was shift work, and public transport stopped before it came knock off time.
Going to add a line a day, draw it out a little.
via About | Sean Bidd.
Initially a small comment on Latoya’s poem, “Woman”, together we came up with “Summers’ Wildflowers” as a duet. Happy escape for the season!
(by Latoya & Sean Bidd)
Reaching between the red cracked clay
Where the rains passed last wet season
And gave beauty meaning and reason
To be anything but dry because wildflowers were alive
And had eyes that saw everything
Of colors out beyond eyes reach
Buried between the martyrs of fall
Preserving its innocents
Waiting to be beckoned
To kiss the rain again
The aroma brings a shift in power
As the moon shines on
A summer of wildflowers
Here is a bit of a story being worked, it’s taking its time as I am still unsure where it is going, or what’s going to happen, but it all started waking up in an empty bed to a storm at 3am, with my better half’s black cat staring out the open window into the lightning, wind, and rain. So I had a place to start… and the story, well it’s evolving, ever so slow… Read on please.
Guests of the peninsular
As he lay there in bed, the alarm clock flashing 3am, but who knew the real time, as the power had gone out earlier that night. Lying there, just staring out past the black cat sitting on the windowsill at the open window. Both peering out into the space beyond the teaming rain, as the lightning flashes and the thunder cracks their merry dance.
To Creek, the sweet sounds of the storm that he fell asleep to some hours before lull for just the briefest of moments, a faint voice pricks his ears. Creek rubs his eyes, unsure if he is awake, or dreaming. And there it is again. A call for help of some kind, Creek thinks, a voice in any case. Bouncing to his feet, as the black cat darts back into the room from the open window, Creek takes a close look out the window, straining his ears to detect the voice in the storm.
Throwing some clothes and a pair of boots on quickly, he grabs his all weather coat, flood lamp, and his remote location medical kit as he heads out the door thinking, who would be out this wild weather on a remote peninsular in the middle of nowhere almost. Stopping under the covered roof of the gated entrance to the yard, Creek looks around trying to decipher the direction of the voice amongst the rain, thunder, and wind.
With the flood light turned on, Creek begins to do a sweep from left to right, when he hears a number of voices yelling through the downpour. Turning the light in the direction of the shouts, Creek can make out three shadowed figures’, he sets off in their direction.
As Creek gets closer, he can see a fourth figure lying on the ground in the rain and mud, with two of the other figures kneeling over them.
“What’s up, everyone okay?” Creek asks loudly as clap of thunder almost drowns out his question.
“Great, you’ve got a kit. What do you have in it?” comes a female voice from one of the rain-drenched figures kneeling on the ground.
Related articles (Sean Bidd is clearly the Zelig of Blogging. )
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- Moore Support (hastywords.wordpress.com)
- LIGHTHOUSE – 55 word Flash Fiction Gallery (ericalagan.net)
Why is Australia’s Lake Eyre very Strange?
- Ancient climate change caused by humans (redearthbluesky.wordpress.com)
- Salt – Murray Fredericks (lookthinktalk.wordpress.com)
- Fight brewing over Lake Eyre Basin protection (abc.net.au)