The summer is reaching its height of broiling temperatures. The pots of herbs are baking in the sun; caterpillars have eaten the rue down to just stems. Still, a weed or two pops up from some seed blown in by the wind or gathered unknowingly in the handfuls of soil.
In the heat, the mob of kangaroos bathes in dust and watches without concern as we tread through their exhibit. At the sheep station, the tank is filled with cool water and my sons splash their faces and hands. The sheep doze in the shadow of the barn. The native art shows a waterhole and the tracks of many creatures that drink. It is a different way of seeing, all of our footsteps mingling, creatures of the light, of the dark, and of the half-light of dusk and dawn.
I am gathering in-- plans, perfect cherry tomatoes, the lazy laughter echoing through the house-- before the routine of the school year is upon us again.