What could be more magickal than to return to innocence and the dream home you always wanted as a child.
Last night somewhere between midnight and morn , my son and I shared conversation and dreams of going home. A home he dreams of and a home I know well. While watching the natural man saving his drying fish from the floods of Alaska on Tv, I secretly smiled with that proud glisten of the eye for the young strapping lad before me in his army trousers. His values of a simple life , and here he was merely 17 , knowing exactly what he wants of out life . An innocent boy more man than so many in their suits with their wives and their money. And I raised him.
The softened wood grained floors with the ocean view, and the sheep pastures outback was the longing I had for my rural home and his of the ‘ Waltzing Matilda’ anthem as he proudly carried his arms for the country he learned to love from his Mum. We have a bond for Mother Earth and her Great Southern Land.
And I know as much as it jabs at my heart , that I will be playing alone on my guitar , that I’ve yet to master, singing with my beloved Joan Baez and missing my boy when he is doing his duties for his country .Waiting for him to come visit.. The dog on the floor, the cats licking their paws, my hair greying and the rough knit sweaters bearing holes from the moths fraying over the patchwork cords and muddy boots will be all I need . A staple evening will be , tea and fruit loaf in front of the fire, books and good music. Me , myself and the animals. Maybe a neighbour dropping by for a ‘Cooee’ here or there..
Something about shutting yourself off from this world of ultramodern time of too many options and too much progression. Thank you , but I’d like to slow down and go back to what I was looking for as a child.
You’ll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me
his ghost may be heard as you pass by that billabong,
You’ll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me.
Oh, you’ll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me.”