Much of Brisbane is built on a floodplain. Probably wasn’t a very good idea, but here we are.
The Brisbane River snakes through this pocket of south east Queensland, and in my little neck of the woods, Kedron Brook is like its baby, matching the curled and winding body of its parent.
I love this creek. It feels as much home as anywhere ever has. I love its stubborn resistance to cede ground, its right to existence, its life and wildlife persisting despite the weeds, chemical waste washed down from upstream, and Kmart shopping trolleys thrown in from the bridge, ending up rooted in the sand.
I love how nature seems to be saying, ‘fuck off! I was here first’. Well, maybe ‘fuck off’ to all the things that harm it and push it out of its own place. There’s an offering of something like a curious gaze, a watchful glance, and some parallel play for those who approach with respect. I feel like I belong to this creek; it’s certainly not mine, I’m one of those uninvited guests. I guess I’d like it to adopt me.
I’ve just walked beside water rushing under the local bridge, forming brown waves and white foam. I saw a tiny azure kingfisher speed past right in front of my face, the third time I’ve seen one, or a pair, in a decade here. I saw a water dragon holding still and eyeballing me. I saw a scrub turkey taking its time across the path.
It’s been raining for days on ground that’s already soaked. This is the cycle we go through and yet mostly seem to resist – every time asking how could it flood, how could that be? An ancient set of waterways, connected and flowing like veins, are hardly going to stop pulsing.
Only days ago my daughter and I were playing in clear shallows here, having a tea party of creek water and watching a catfish eel. Now it’s got an entirely different energy, one that says just stand back and observe.
A Thousand Thoughts 