Lake Eyre filling quickly!
Bottums Up
G'day Chimbu, y'ole tart. Love the new monika.
I heard the other day, I think on the ABC, that the Paroo River is expected to flow into the Darling, for only the third time in white-man's occupation of Australia.
I heard the other day, I think on the ABC, that the Paroo River is expected to flow into the Darling, for only the third time in white-man's occupation of Australia.
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Awesome pics. I saw Sturt's Stony Desert in flower a few years ago, and having previously seen it in the usual 'Mars Expedition' configuration it was magic to see it green. Quite made up for the washouts.
Time for poetry! Apologies, but I've had a drink and this one always reminds me of the channel country.
Where the Pelican Builds Her Nest
The horses were ready, the rails were down,
But the riders lingered still
One had a parting word to say,
And one had his pipe to fill.
Then they mounted, one with a granted prayer,
And one with a grief unguessed.
"We are going," they said, as they rode away
"Where the Pelican builds her nest!"
They had told us of pastures wide and green,
To be sought past the sunset's glow;
Of rifts in the ranges by opal lit;
And gold 'neath the river's flow.
And thirst and hunger were banished words
When they spoke of that unknown West;
No drought they dreaded, no flood they feared,
Where the pelican builds her nest!
The creek at the ford was but fetlock deep
When we watched them crossing there;
The rains have replenished it thrice since then,
And thrice has the rock lain bare.
But the waters of Hope have flowed and fled,
And never from blue hill's breast
Come back - by the sun and the sands devoured
Where the pelican builds her nest.
Mary Hannay-Foott, 1885
Time for poetry! Apologies, but I've had a drink and this one always reminds me of the channel country.
Where the Pelican Builds Her Nest
The horses were ready, the rails were down,
But the riders lingered still
One had a parting word to say,
And one had his pipe to fill.
Then they mounted, one with a granted prayer,
And one with a grief unguessed.
"We are going," they said, as they rode away
"Where the Pelican builds her nest!"
They had told us of pastures wide and green,
To be sought past the sunset's glow;
Of rifts in the ranges by opal lit;
And gold 'neath the river's flow.
And thirst and hunger were banished words
When they spoke of that unknown West;
No drought they dreaded, no flood they feared,
Where the pelican builds her nest!
The creek at the ford was but fetlock deep
When we watched them crossing there;
The rains have replenished it thrice since then,
And thrice has the rock lain bare.
But the waters of Hope have flowed and fled,
And never from blue hill's breast
Come back - by the sun and the sands devoured
Where the pelican builds her nest.
Mary Hannay-Foott, 1885
