From the driest state in the driest continent

*l
CONTRASTS

The hot searing wind rustles through the ripening wheat
The thin brittle stalks bow low before the burning heat
Small birds their beaks agape, shelter in the heated shade
No drops of water or cooling breeze, their tiny lives to save.
This is summer drought at its worst, in a land of constant sun.
Where with labours toil and sweat, a meagre livings won.

Lightning cracks far away, across the distant scene
Splitting the sky apart, with a jagged brilliant stream
Of shining rays like splinters, shattered from a log of wood
In bright relief outlined against a darkening sky, that should,
Fill with clouds and bring relief to the thirsty earth below
With the promise of renewed life, and bigger crops to grow.

Black clouds tower high above, the parched and arid land
Thunder growls rumbling deep, like a drumming tympany band
The accompaniment of distant drums, rolling to applaud the light,
Of the flashing lightning, shining still with incandescence bright.
The wind has dropped, the air is still, no sound disturbs the scene
The whole world seems to hold it's breath, awaiting to be redeemed.

One single drop of water, hits the ground alone
A mound of deep red dust scatters, like tiny balls of foam.
Another drop large and round, makes its mark upon the ground,
Soaked up thirstily by the dust, lying all around
Soon the rain is falling steadily and little rivulets run
The rain softening up the dust, that before was burnt by sun.

Day after dismal day the rain comes teeming down,
Where once was swirling dust before, nought but mud abounds.
Water floods the lowland rising by the hour
Sandbags on the levees, fail to stop the rivers power
Townships down the stream, fight a loosing battle
While farmers watch so helplessly, their drowning sheep and cattle.

Drought and flood so seasons run, in this land of ours
And those who would their living wrest, battle natures power
And rich rewards can be theirs, when good times come at last,
Rewards for persevering through the bad times that have passed.
A land of contrasts, yes indeed, a land so rich and rare
That moulds the Australian farmer, to be none beyond compare.
JW10/93