Late morning on Anzac Day, I went out to Belanglo State Forest (ten minutes away) for the first time to unearth a poem, a state of mind, a feel, an opinion, some sort of new reverence for those golden tourists who were stolen, and some bird species I've yet to add to my Southern Highlands list (it's meant to be one of the only spots down here for emu).
The place is a maze of dull Christmas Trees and dusty roads the shade of overcooked salmon. I didn't find a poem or resonance or any interesting birds. What I got was a bogged Holden and half an hour of digging with thick sticks to try and free the beast with zero fortune. I worried about the drivability of the vehicle. Luckily, a burly, cheery State Forests ranger passed by - on a winch and a prayer, he freed me. Another Great Samaritan saves the day! This time around, I bought him a six pack of Premium Blondes and delivered them to his home at Moss Vale later that day.
The rest of my day revolved around selecting twenty-six pages of poetry for the Picaro Press meets Byron Bay Writers' Festival prize due at the end of the week - the placements of hyphens, commas and semi-colons dominated proceedings. The comp is only open to those in rural NSW. The prize is chapbook publication through Picaro and a launch at the Festival. I have a fair chance of winning. I think. If I don't, the genteel side of philosophy will befriend me and I will go on to the next thing with aplomb and alacrity.
LJ, April 25 2010.
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