Three trees
Three black wattles have died young. Wattles’ lives have varying lengths. They die or survive for unknown reasons.
Their waving here is young and full of the promise of a future life which turns out was a lie.
They wave and the sky provides an accompaniment as if the clouds were life’s vapours.
They died together, went down as one, companions more in their death than their life.
Three conjures significance as if a story is embedded. Even without knowledge of religion, the scene has a biblical resonance. ‘They gave their lives for us.’
The three trees make a unit. There is a compelling unity. They separate themselves from the landscape, when the rule of the landscape is that nothing can be separated from the whole. No one thing shall be idolised is the rule here, at Wamboin, here in Australia, here in the world and yet?