If I was a Kimberley Turtle, I’d sing a place with a wet season thundering waterfall. that snakes its watery skin across the land, as it gathers speed and surrenders, screaming itself down the cliff to belly flop into the watery underworld.
A place that is timeworn and honeycombed with vertigo giddy towers of face painted solid rock, tracked only by lizards and snakes.
Where the burning chilli – hot sun has to ask permission to enter and then only in shards of coloured glass like spears.
I’d sing a place, where no one knows the depths of the liquid blue and no one cares.
Where custodians of the land ask only what they need and the oceans give only what it can spare.
Where the whispered echoes answer each other in ancient voices.
My voice would sing in untamed notes of wild harmony, beating a watery rhythm, chanting ancient mantras.
Where my salty eyes would feel the purity and rawness of mother nature – at its wildest wet and its serene stillness in the same tune.
A kimberley gorge would be my song if
