Driving across the Monaro,
I feel like I'm on top of the world.
Scant paddocks of senescing trees and tussock grasses,
Unseasonal green.
Yet in the distance,
Cloud shrouded mountains.
I peek down over the edge at them.
Wind sweeping emphasises height
And I watch
A long row of turbines on a ridge-top.
Slowly turning.
Not quite in unison.
To my right
A pair of wedgetails circle each other,
In a sensuous dance with the up-drafts.
They appear so close out of my car window.
Yet I know the valley falls away below them.
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