Looking out

The stream that, crooning to itself,
comes down a tireless rover,
flows calmly to the rocky shelf,
and there leaps bravely over.
from The Blue Mountains by Henry Lawson

I long thought Govett’s Leap
a sinister place.

Did some pasty public servant
disillusioned, desk-bound
duly overcome
by Mountains majesty
here leap with faith
to the great Beyond?

Or did a deadbeat drover
Waltzing Matilda–style
spur stockhorse o’er that cliff
to ghost the cops?

In truth
it was the falls that
leapt,
and Govett not.
And they leap still.

And I leapt here
down stairs unnumbered
unencumbered
fingers numbed
seeking those falls.

Was I overly bold?
As twilight took hold
I began to ascend,
vision chequered
by dizzy dots.

Poets wept
at such spots
where calm grandeur—scale—
melts a human’s
place.

Some may weep still.
But I had Gill.

Photo: Govett’s Leap by Catherin J Pascal Dunk