This Island Home.
Here's to the land and the sea and the trees and the animals; to the sand, the sun, the red earth, and the waves.
To scraped knees and flat tires, baked beans and campfires; to mozzies and flies, snakes and dingos, kookaburras, cockatoos and rainbow lorikeets.
To frog symphonies and cricket choirs.
Here's to rainbow skies at dusk and dawn; to the huge river systems, vast plains, giant rocks and rolling waves. To the corals and the grasses, the whales, the sharks and the rays.
To wet footy seasons and long hot summers. To broken radios and test matches.
Here's to salty bodies and sandy feet, sun bleached hair and bloodshot eyes.
To browned legs descending on backyard tables at dusk; a wild mess of arms passing food from barbecue to plate. Mosquito coils the only protection for the frenzied huddle of bare skin.
To the traditional owners of this land who took care of it for thousands of years, thank you.
To the souls who lived with the land, took only what they needed and left nothing in their trace, who saw that we are part of something bigger than ourselves, and who respected all that came before us and that exists along side us. I'm sorry.
I'm sorry for the bags and chemicals that fill the waterways, and the nets and the plastic and the oils that suffocate, strangle and kill animals; for the smoke and pollution that clogs the air, the machines the clear fields, the diggers that rob this land it of its nutrients and minerals, leaving it sick and weak and ever changed. I'm sorry.
To our generation, may we value this land and the world around us more than those we've inherited it from.
May we be the change that we want to see.