Silent rituals of the bush

Gum-trees Stripping Say the need's born within the tree, And waits a trigger set for light; say sap is tidal like the sea, and rises with the solstice-heat - but wisdom shells the words away to watch this fountain slowed in air where sun joins earth - to watch the place at which these silent rituals are. Words are not meanings for a tree. So it is truer not to say, 'These rags look like humility, or this year's wreck of last year's love, or wounds ripped by the summer's claw.' If it is possible to be wise here, wisdom lies outside the word in the earlier answer of the eyes. Wisdom can see the red, the rose, The stained and sculptured curve of grey, the charcoal scars of fire, and see around that living tower of tree the hermit tatters of old bark split down and strip to end the season; and can be quiet and not look for reason past the edge of reason. Judith Wright

Ruby Tuesday - Blood suckers!

As my brother and I gingerly picked our way along Molly Milligan Creek looking for the tell-tale splash from a platypus in the wild making a dash for his burrow in the riverbank, we flicked the leaches from our boots and socks. Upon our return to the house, I realised I had missed the blighter who hid behind the belt of my jeans and t'other one who slithered up under the sleeve of my skivvy.

Did anyone ever mention that leach sucks itch? Like billy-oh ...

A new member of the Ruby Tuesday community.