Journey through mild unassuming hills, I find my eye flitting to familiar fields

Cloaked in winter green gown fecund I recall but not today, under a fierce summer eye,

All is brown and dry this is fodder for fierce fires to reap, not today, relieved to see meadow brown and vistas in dusty hues,

Reminds me that I too, here was planted from some other soil I am third generation I’m rooted here, I see green as beauty,

Vivid blue over dusty shimmering brown has as much merit, it is the legacy of the Europeans to hold onto the verdant views,

In my recesses of post memories enfolded there lies the acclimatisation of a new being a new nation.

C