WHEN IN AUTUMN IT CALLS MY NUMBER . . .

It happens around autumn every year, it never fails to amaze
something inside me urges me to visit, again, my favourite place coinciding with longer nights, cold temperatures, dew on grass
every time have to decide to either go, or, this time shall I pass

It's a powerfull yearning for raw warmth, smell of Red-gum campfire
just me, the stars, soaking up sounds of bush, before one does retire
in my mind's eye take off like a Wedge-tail Eagle, soaring into night sky
a flight of fancy, any direction, across a million stars, can but try

Soaring over landscape, finding my favourite place, Mawson Plateau
been here before, long drive by car, undescribable impressive when go
once there, have to undertake strenuous day's walk, no access by car
setting the tone and appreciating landscape, it's really not that far

Tumbling granite tors, coloured ochre, spectacular, awesome, inspiring
razorback quartzite ridges slashed by deep gorges, painted Finches flying
around waterholes, skirted by flashbright sandbanks, well earned rest
gurgling streams, Red-capped Robins, statuesque Grass Trees, the best

Gentle rush of water, slipping over granite edge into polished rock hollow
circle of Sturt's Desert Pea, in bloom, when eyes the watercourse follow
changing colours of crazy rock formations, with every sunrise and sunset
nature has put here for you and me, grandeur of sights, colour pallette

Each night sit around Red-Gum campfire till finally it's embers are dying
looking back on day, stars above, bush sounds of night, very satisfying
slowly, reluctantly, crawl into sleeping bag for a peaceful nights slumber
would I eagerly answer call in autumn, when it again calls my number ?