Red Dirt

  
I saw a man dance, in the dark of night.

His feet kicking up dust to the unique sound of the clapping sticks.
His body molded in poise as he told his dreamtime story.
He is the custodian of this land.

I wanted to place my hand on his chest and soak in his existence.
He had captivated my heart and I didn't want to let go.

My imagination ran wildly through the memories I have of this rugged and beautiful place.
The vast contrasts that change from a loving hug to a murderous scream in a blink of an eye.
This place, my land. 

I saw him walking towards the bush and I ran after him.
I followed behind him for many hours and then finally he stopped and turned to me.
"Show me my Dreamtime?" I asked him.
He bent down and scooped up a handful of red dirt and poured it into my hand.
"This is your Dreamtime Wadgela," He said

I wanted to seize that moment. Hold it for ever in my hand and forever in my mind. I rubbed the red dirt over my sweaty face and felt a pride of belonging.
He turned and began to walk away. I ran after him and he turned back to face me.
I opened my mouth to speak and he put his hand up and stopped me.
He took his hand and wiped some of the paint off his chest and he smeared my face with it.
"Biyanga," I said, "Take me with you?"
He shook his head and I watched him walk away.

This place is my heart and the red dirt is my blood.
I remember when I saw a man dance, in the dark of night.


Read More: http://imaginifbusiness.blogspot.com/2010/05/painted-men.html