‘seventeen has turned thirty-five; I’m surprised that we’re still living’
‘Cherry Bomb’ by John Mellencamp
I have fond memories of sharing earphones with my friend Amanda, listening to ‘Cherry Bomb’ in hospital when the lights were out. I never thought this song would have such literal meaning for me. Thirty five. I find it hard to believe that I’m here and most of my friends are not. In 2011, the number of friends I have lost to Cystic Fibrosis rose to 62. Some were the greatest loves of my life and Amanda was one.
I spent the day yesterday in a beautiful space, both physically and spiritually. A dear friend invited me to her farm in northern New South Wales and last night we feasted, laughed, drank lots of tea, demolished a cake and a tiramisu drenched in so much alcohol that I would have been over the legal limit; we waved sparklers among the fairy lights we strung up in the afternoon, popped party poppers and spent quality patting time with the two pups. Here’s what I woke to this morning. May 2012 be kind to you 🙂
first day at possum creek
Loose udders and mucus plugs
signals new life on the grass and clods of dirt.
Lilies dance on water the way flies hover over fresh meat.
A heifer drops its snout into the trough to drink –
not greedily, but more delicately,
sucking on the water in a docile way – surprising for a beast.
Pebbles, clumps of wild grass and cow shit
pattern a track to the paddock where a sabre calf
feasts on the edge of the grid;
lifts its head, turns towards its tail, then stares at me.
Unsteady of his feet, he runs to his mother
whose cries echo through the valley –
carrying that sound like some heavy burden.
From the verandah, I hear the shaking of wooden spoons in pots.
It’s time for breakfast – sweet, sticky black rice.