Thursday afternoons we looked for bush tucker.
That day the tiny flies that are the native honey bees
   licked our skin for salt & it tickled.
So the kids searched for the hive high in a tree
   screaming with delight when it was found.

Dinny, 5o+ walked straight up the smooth white trunk
   & carefully along the limb with a short axe,
    sat down & wrapped his legs for purchase.
He chopped away, chips flying down
    While the kids chanted & danced encouragement.

The limb crashed & the hive dropped to the ground.
We all dug in & ate the sweet black honey
    Swallowing bees mixed with sticks & leaves.
    
Dinny waved & went back to camp.
& the kids took off in another direction.
I followed their fading voices.When I crashed out of the bush
   blinding light
   firm white salt pan
reflecting the glare & the clear blue sky,
Bare, brilliant, overwhelming.
Absolute, utter silence.
   No bird calls.
   No wildlife.
   No vegetation.
   No footprints that I could see.
Only Frog hill in the distance.The kids far ahead, big girls carrying the little ones.
As I walked towards them merged into a huddle.
Bowed faces staring down looking at the saltpan.
Wondering, I joined the huddle & bent over to look at that spot, I saw the shadows, the texture of the sand, our feet.  Then I said, ‘What is this place?’     ‘This Eunice place.’

Friday by the river I said to Benjamin aged 6,
     ‘What is your guardian animal?
     ‘Water goanna,’ sir, I’ll show you.  
Benjamin waved & took me to his place.We climbed up on to a fallen tree by the river.
He pointed to a hollow, ‘my mother had me here.
      She had her feet like this.
The water goanna was watching me come out.’The big kids looked around for crocodile signs.
     They nodded, ‘nothing’ & smiled.
     The girls swam in long missionary dresses,
     fabric trailing through the water.Some kids plastered themselves with mud
   & lay in the sun to bake.
When dry they leapt from trees into the river
   shouting at the top of their voices.