below the clouds, above the dust

Dropping below the clouds we flew parallel to the rain, lowly and slowly like plane was seeking carrion amidst the red and green undulations. Country is swelling to meet us, and I am too, reaching through the windows, below the wings, gliding across the sand and spinifex, cliched.

I am every pop song about love and loss in this country. It fills my chest until I can't speak. Stripped back like ancient sea beds, rising to meet the incoming storm front.

escaping the rooftops and the endless bitumen parades of manscapes finding myself back in this place. drinking cider and dancing in the dirt, dodging the centipedes, weaving through blades of grass.

I'm home, thank fuck, I'm home.