Culture

By Anonymous (not verified) , 1 November, 2025
If this land was made by anyone, it would be you. You always had a crucial role. Woodend is the beauty of your making. Our mountain is grey like the freshwater pearls you wore just in case he came home. The wet mud looks like one of your letters to Dad, dropped in tea by accident. The clouds are whipped and ready for him to come running down the track. But it won’t lead the walker and rider through the valley and past our mountain, to you, sitting on the porch and reading.