Strange to be flourishing so far afield; its home is equatorial, tropical, not here, among suburban paddocks, with a straight line down to Antarctica. Yet, while silver birch weeps and quince decks boggy ground with its midwinter yellow, this Malaysian friend greets me with loud, audacious pink, asserting its brilliant right to exist, here, far from home: fruitless, pointless, its only purpose to be, to glory, and beautifully so.
Teacher, writer, blogger, husband, father, Christian. Living in Wyndham in Melbourne's west, on the land of the Kulin Nation. Searching for words to console and feed hearts and souls.
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One thought on “Werribee Dragonfruit”
Out of place, like the opera singer, who in an unknown tongue, trills impossible notes in perfect pitch, bursting with audacious life. Unable to fade she glows with hope, a rare treasure in a field, reminding the quotidian humdrum – there is more.
The Consolations of Writing 
Out of place, like the opera singer, who in an unknown tongue, trills impossible notes in perfect pitch, bursting with audacious life. Unable to fade she glows with hope, a rare treasure in a field, reminding the quotidian humdrum – there is more.