Each day I take the drive to work, I pass through some wonderful country side. I pass the dam, which is low. At night I know the junjeries are there, I see their eyes; I talk to them and tell them not to follow me home.
I see the horses being trained at the stables. They prance and dance. Sometimes I see kids learning how to ride. I see the scar tree that I hope remains there; it’s been there for years I don’t want the road to encroach on it and destroy it as its part of the Heritage of the Qandamooka mob.
I see the two white mini buses pull up and African women exit it and walk over the road to the farm to work. My hope is that they are getting fair wages for the work they do. I see the road side stall selling their produce and
I see the school kids walk to the nearby schools and the pile up of traffic, mums walking the kids in before heading off to the gym, for their daily Zumba session or boot camp. I feel for the Hassled mums doing the run before heading off to work.
I see the slow drivers who don’t know where they are going. The Drivers who cut everyone off, the drivers who duck and weave in and out of the traffic to get ahead. The tree loping trucks slowing down the traffic as they do their job to make sure the beautiful trees don’t drop limbs on the road or on the power lines.
I see some wonderful sunsets in the afternoon and I see rainbows after the rain. I love the jacarandas flowering and raining down their purple bounty, it still returns me to a time in my life when that was magical.
I see a man pull over and get a bag of rubbish out of his car and put it in some ones wheelie bin and drive off. I watch as others pull over and grab the bags of manure, but don’t put money in the honesty box. I see the duck eggs and goose eggs for sale and the day old chicks. I often want to stop and buy a baby duck. My kids are with me on that one. Maybe one day I will have a duckling. But until then I will continue with my drive to work.