Coral Hull: Prose: Notes From The Big Park: The Christmas Hills, Victoria, Australia.

I MACKENZIE KNIGHT I A CHILD OF WRATH A GOD OF LOVE I FALLEN ANGELS EXPOSED I

CORAL HULL: NOTES FROM THE BIG PARK
THE CHRISTMAS HILLS, VICTORIA, AUSTRALIA

(Sugar Gliders) - we found mainly secretive, nocturnal haunts, introverted ring-tailed possums, the old nests of fastigals, a tiny grey fur ball in the green long-leafed box leaves, place woven together like a wreath, indigenous, overlooked shy habits, a love of sugar derived from blossom eating, sugar entering the blood of the marsupial dart, preying on the sugar of the bark, in the landscape of the wintry trunk, the gliding membranes between the limbs, the evenly furred tailed, and frequently white tipped, gliding ability, we cover a considerable area in one night, fifty yards, the remarkable length of its glides into a Victorian gully, a slight upward swoop reduces the force of impact, wild adult gliders exhibit a spit fire temper, biting and scratching, a hissing sound in the nest, a sharp scream of disagreement, rapidly subsiding to faint grunts, a diet of insects, tender buds, blossoms and native fruits, grasp spiders on the bark, long front inscisors used for tearing open young branches for the juicy wood, ready for energy conversion, sugar becomes flight, hollows in limbs form the daylight retreat, family groups remain leafed up for several seasons, when disturbed they scatter into trees, fall prey to large birds such as the currawong, gliding down into the gully, we are entering the inland like an aeroplane, loaded cargo of soft grey fur, claws and sugar coated tongue, large twelve year hollows where many generations have added to the leafy nest, carried in a bundle twisted into the tail, like strung together sticks, gliding possums, we are all gliding.

(Ringtailed Possum) - we are all on the verge of gripping branches when climbing, as inoffensive as leaf-eaters, we thrive wherever suitable timber exists over the natural range, with pronounced shyness or gentleness, nocturnally yours, they haunt the dark shrubs of Victoria, quarrelsome amongst each other, with a habitual expression that is fixed and staring, a prolonged unchanging stare, where rocks form in the gullies and are timeless, the whole of the bush makes you want to stare, so it can enter through your vacant eyes, into your mind and heart, as a ringtailed possum might every so often, very agile and capable of graceful movements, stay motionless and trust in the grip of a tail and hind feet, prehensile tails that descend head downwards, watch the skillful ways they travel through foilage and can transfer themselves to trees, such as the black box and red ironbark, when branches are barely touching, and the sun is barely risen, run your eyes along the branch to the end of a slender bough of learning until it dips down to an adjoining one, the weight of transfixed staring is transferred into the body of a ringtailed possum, claws and tail gripping the edges of the hills, bringing together branches and clusters of leaves in a meeting of marsupial, ring and tail, bird like notes call at dawn, in warmer months, babies are gripping their claws into her woolly fur, sight is the main guiding sense by night, assisted by the long sensory whiskers of your thoughts, our sense of smell is now extremely well developed, our pathways have finally crossed, we nurture territories and spread our scent through tree communities.

(Black Tailed Wallaby) - sombre brownish colouration, the mysterious black lashed snout is said to extend from Victoria across the south eastern border of South Australia, or further than the eye can see and further than imagined, the eye has to stretch a long way, even if you are hard at hearing the sound will reach your ear, as distance becomes and compliments distance, a stout blackish tail thumps the rocks and the bare grey understorey is hidden away from frosts, in the face of the secretive black tailed wallaby, Victoria is a cold snake flattening its stomach to the rock, in a place barely touched by the winter sun, the forests of box and stringybark are colouring the gullies of the Christmas Hills along the Yarra River, cupping the low gullies like hands protecting a lizards from a bushfire or icy winter, the rich rusty yellowish underpart of a country in hibernation, either from the heat or from the bitter cold, the wallaby turns its rump to the world to wash its tiny paws, the sombre rather shaggy coat reflects the thick swamps and damp scrubby gullies of its favoured haunts, haunches and haunts all grey and secretive, all whiskering and remote, the sun is smothered by a southern winter, that launches the frosts and the stillness of ice on the verge of breaking crockery, where wallaby droppings crack open at midday, in a sound louder than breath in a Victorian ranges silence, in a beyond wind and rain lashing silence, the black-tailed wallaby haunting hillsides and being seen on mountain tops that are often misty, often rainy, grey and cold, deeply cold, an entrenched cold protected by gullies huddling and non exposed.

    

This website is part of my personal testimony that has been guided by The Holy Spirit and written in Jesus' name.

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