That might be the title of a future poem as I have been thinking about the stark black images of the bush in Wilsons Promontory after visiting on the weekend. Just about my favourite place in the world, and a place that I’ve written about quite a bit, it was kind of surreal to see Mt Oberon for the first time stripped of vegetation, bare bones, struts, vertebraes and clanking stone. I’ve been coming here for thirty years and never seen it quite like this; cleaned out from a bungled government burn-off around April this year.
We walked around the coastal path to Little Oberon Bay and it was strange to see this walk totally afresh, the trees gone and the bare rocks prominent. Some poems coming I hope.