Category Archives: Occasionally Tables

Quite often square, nested and practical.

The Great Clown Spring Upon The Horizon

The other night the change of season arrived on a buffeting wind. There was a vast and joyful spirit, warm and tumultuous on the air, Spring had blown into town, brimming with mischief and raucous cheer.

So Monday, warm and blue, with the tail of that spirit still tangling with the branches and dancing among the clouds, (fat and white, their edges still blue and silvered with a promise) seemed a perfect day to recommence cycling in the park.

I take great enjoyment in cycling the bushland park at Braeside on a bright spring day, however, indulging in Winter, averse to discomfort, if it becomes an ordeal and hazard in mud and downpour, I’d rather stay in. So I tend not to go much in winter. Yes, readjusting, there will be aches and pains.

The bush was green, somehow comforting. The air curling in eddies on my skin smelled of moist earth and sun brightened leaves. Sunny and mushroomy. If I remembered what Gold Tops looked like I certainly would have stopped and picked some. Birdsong turned from height to height, and red and blue parrots seemed to be caught mid-flight in preternatural bright moments, just for me to admire.

And there in the distance, startling as I rounded a bend along the track, topped by flying pennants, almost glowing was the candy-coloured brightness of a circus tent. One of my favourite images, the sight of a circus or carnival above the landscape, filled with all sorts of promise and mystery.

I imagined the painted horse-drawn wagon, the somersaulting dogs and caparisoned ponies, the shambolic clowns, the captivating acrobats, the popcorn and spun sugar, the mighty breath of a lion’s roar, of a bush circus from childhood. The actuality is, over there it’s all housing developments and angular pre-fab factories, and even a monolithic sports stadium. But the actuality doesn’t matter. What’s important is the illusion. And the irrelevancy of time, of the distance between moments.

So, a perfect day for a ride in the park. The days following it has been all rain and gales, but that caress of warmth remains in the air, the great spirit, that clown spring, is here to stay, at least for a season, embracing in merriment, doffing hats from heads, dashing washing from lines, filling the air with chatter and calling green things up from the earth.


bush circus medium



I was born in the 60s, which explains a lot, and grew up on the wrong side of the tracks in Australian country towns, which explains a little.
I suffered education, and then found books instead.
I’ve spent more of my life in books than out, indulging in adventures, conundrums, mirrors and magic.
As a teen in the 80s, I hoboed around hitching and jumping freight trains from Adelaide to the Daintree.
You’d think I’d have learned my lesson, but no. After that I went back for more education. It was less unpleasant, but more traumatic. After that I fell into a black hole. Packed spices. Moved boxes. Lived in parks and on concrete. Hardened, broken, eroded.

Then I sold books and curiosities, and junk and put back together faulty mechanisms, finding value in restoring discarded things. Then someone restored me.
I write poems, the odd short story, I have half a hundred unfinished works on scraps of paper and scraps of memory. I’ll be finished one day soon.