I walk down south Fre­mantle beach and the sea calls to me. The winds are cool off the grey sand and the waves are teal and indigo, with cream foam, ser­en­ad­ing the beach with soft sighs. The grass is stud­ded with yellow dais­ies, bright and lus­cious and violet wild­flowers sway back and forth in the gusts. The dunes lie qui­es­cent, scrub-silent. I stand arms out­stretched on a rocky out­crop and ded­ic­ate myself to peace, love and hope. So mote it be.

Last night’s moon was heavy with know­ing. Orange like a burnt offer­ing, it hung above the river and lifted so slowly into the sky you could hear the creak of the effort. Women’s land, tales of sky-spir­its and river-snake spir­its wend­ing through time to lift the sky. She is spread out in the milky way, this mother, spread out with hair spark­ling, spirit-chil­dren wink­ing in her braids, twis­ted in like gems and bone and ribbon. Watch for her, watch for her, secret in the star­light. She is sigh­ing as the moon rises towards her. She is sigh­ing and sob­bing, she is soft and the moon hums its warm embrace to her, shh, little mother, shh, the chil­dren are safe, the chil­dren are safe now.