The Stranger

The Stranger.

He came when Summer had fastened it’s fingers
On the throat of our dry, dusty brown land.
“I am searching for something” he said, “that you have here
In the land on the edge of the grass and the sand.”

“They told me to search where the mid-day mirages
Hover and shimmer and dance in the sun.
They told me to look where the people are talking
In the soft evening light when the daylight is done.”

“Look high on the ridges” they said, “and the hill sides,
And look down below in the rivers of sand,
My search” they said, could last for a lifetime
And never turn out the way I had planned.”

They said, “I might find in a red western sunset
Part of the magic I came here to chase,
If I looked past the sandstorms and harshness of summer
I might find for myself the charm of the place.”

“I might find if I seek it the wide sky of night time
The softness of moonlight and mornings still grace,
I might find for myself the difference of friendships
That nurture and grow in your wide open space.”

So I told him to savour our heat in the summer
But stay till the rains had come to the land
And grown the grass higher than cattle and horses
When the wildflowers covered the hills and the sand.

I said he might find the magic he looked for’
I hoped he would know, should he stumble upon
The illusive and wonderful something we have here
That we sometimes write down in a tale or a song.

And I hoped he would stay, should he fancy our lifestyle
To discover the wonders we see in our land
I hoped he’d find mates and friendships and company,
They’re all here in our dry, dusty, brown land.

written by Betty Olle.