Onwards

Down the bush, a currawong cried out its name as I pushed through ferns past Old Man Banksia. Dry bracken crackled underfoot.
A lizard scuttled under a pile of rocks.

The bush was alive.
I breathed in the scent of eucalyptus.

Brown snake.
Run home to a house next to a tall gum tree with blood-red resin glistening down its white trunk.
A butcherbird cawed.

Over the creek.
Cross the rotten log to the flat rock.
Stick figures of a man and a woman, curves of a snake, a bounding kangaroo. The rock was alive.
Aboriginal souls trapped inside.

Slipping on sludge, I caught a whiff of the damp smell of wood and felt myself being sucked into an unknown Dreamtime.

Run home.
Go back.
But the only option was …onwards.