Kangaroos at Donnolly River Mill

Kangaroos at Donnolly River Mill

Sundown marks a gravel expanse, the warmth of ochre lines. Kangaroos gather round, and like a painting of an old town, the open space is their space. The backdrop is the old mill, almost down, an historic treasure not known, a timber mill hailing a gold mine, soon to be ground, not preserved, unkempt, not kept, renegated to its knees. Roaming emus grumble, try to please. Small to junior joeys encircle, nudge close as if you’ve food. They’re in arms reach, a trick they’ve learned from passing tourists. How many? Approximately eight or ten. Further up, large does and bucks join the group, to form a troop. It’s affectionate protection. Movement is slow, when food’s a no show. It’s a leg up, back prised, the way forward is a soundless bound, an amble with no scramble to other tufts of grass. It’s a country juxtaposition! This court of roos moves freely among trees, towards fences, cross corrugated gutters, the gravel of an old track. It’s a poetic trifle, a zoological trick. The old mill, a security risk, is encased in razor wire.