Claire Watson: ‘Morialta Conservation Park’

Morialta Conservation Park

The faintest blue smudge on the far horizon
always reminds me of my first home
among rusted gum trees, meandering creeks
and secluded trails I claimed as my own.

How different it seems some twenty years later:
the suburban sprawl has sunk its hungry claws
into the earth and today the park teems
with people, thick as insects on the forest floor.

At first I resent the raucous invasion:
the children squawk like lorikeets under the trees,
the pull of the coffee-van rivals the waterfalls,
and smoke from the barbeques drifts on the breeze.

Yet as I walk further, my heart becomes chastened
by adults playing stepping stones over the creek
and families stopping to point out koalas
perched on flimsy branches. At the end of a week

where schedules were packed as tight as the carpark
and children rushed to bed at the end of the day,
how can I begrudge this stampede to nature
where everyone finds space to breathe and play?

Claire Watson