Heart Of The Red GumA Story by Tash Hill The vibrant red and white materials showed clearly in contrast to the deep blue of a nation full of pride. He stood tall, surveying the land before him with a keen eye.
The bright, electric blue of his eyes squinted against the bright midday sun,
small creases etched with the tautness of straining muscles. This was home.
This place, with the rolling hills covered in swishing grass that shimmered and
flashed in the dazzling light of day. He’d loved and worked this land, been a part of this land
since he had been old enough to run wild beneath the reaching limbs
of the phantom-like gums. Glancing behind him he took in the farmhouse, with its
soaring beams and the deep red-brown of a home loved by its inhabitants. He wasn't
touching the wall closest to him, but he knew the dark timber would be smooth
and silky under his loving hands. He treasured this place, this home. He strode off of the short balcony onto the dusty, brown of
the yard �" his back and legs straining as muscles worked- taking a few easy
steps before turning back towards the house. Above the steps, a flag waved
proudly against the blue of the midday sky, wiped clean of any clouds. The vibrant red and white materials showed clearly in
contrast to the deep blue of a nation full of pride. Yes, this place, this acreage was his home, where he
belonged. *** He leant heavily against his cane as he surveyed the land
before him with dulling vision. The dim, world weary blue of his eyes squinted
against the bright midday sun, deep creases forever carved into his face. He remembered when this land had been his only home, a time
before his eyes were opened and he understood a much greater home. This place
with rolling his covered in cragged, dried grass that creaked in the dry
breeze. No folk from the city talked about
visiting this place anymore, they had moved onto a different land, a new life. But the he saw this place as forever, as a place where
everyone would be forever welcome - like the open arms of a mother. He’d loved and fought for this nation, been a part of this
great country ever since he was born. Glancing behind him he took in the farmhouse, with its
sagging beams and the weathered wood of a home with inhabitants that had lived
through the atrocities of a war torn world.
He wasn't touching the wall closet to him, but he knew the dusty timber
would be rough and crusted under his fond hands. He remembered a time
when this was all he treasured; now he treasured a much greater thing. His salt and pepper hair streaked with auburn and skin tough
and calloused from living in a sunburnt country; his comrades had always said
he was a country man, cut like a Red Gum and in love with the red and brown of
the outback. He hopped unsteadily off the sagging porch onto the dust,
brown of the yard �" his one leg nearly buckling under the strain �" taking a few
painful steps before turning back towards the house. Above the steps, a flag waved proudly against the blue of
the midday sky, wiped clean of any clouds. The vibrant red and white materials
showing clearly in contrast to the deep blue of a nation full of pride. Yes, this land, this great nation was his home, where he
belonged.
© 2014 Tash HillReviews
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