The Seventh Generation

Are we seriously having a conversation in this country that suggests that Nuclear power is safe? is environmentally friendly? is responsible?
I feel like I have taken my eyes off the political ball for a moment and the world has gone mad.
There is a Native American saying that says 'In every deliberation we must consider the impact on the seventh generation'. What kind of a world will we be leaving to the next generation, let alone the seventh generation from now, if we go down this path any further than we already have?
Our own indigenous people here in Australia talk of uranium as poison in the ground and that we shouldn't disturb it.
Check out these sites for more information and tell your Member of parliament that you don't want a Nuclear future for Australia.

http://www.rachelsiewert.org.au/files/releases/let-the-facts-speak-3rd-edition.pdf

http://www.7genfund.org/2006_uranium_summit.html

Long shadows hour

My favorite time of day is that when the shadows stretch long across the landscape. When the sun sinks down and casts the shadows of the trees in such a way that they stretch like giant fingers across the road, once again reclaiming the earth into darkness. The time of day when the sky blazes orange, then turns deep red and fades into pinks and purples and blues and you marvel at how no painter on earth could imagine how to pant such beautiful colours. Then you stop watching for a moment and suddenly the colours are gone. When the birds sing their evening songs, reserved for just this moment and we begin our nocturnal sommersault.

Mutaka vigil

On my way to school Monday morning I came across a white Toyota Troop carrier stopped squarely in the middle of the road, jacked up with the wheel resting against the side of the car. To the right of the car I could see two people sitting next to a small camp fire and to the left a bunch of swags rolled out on the dirt and a couple of bleary eyed faces poking out from them. I slowed to a stop and closer inspection revealed that it was a family from Mulga Bore and the bleary faces belonged to students of mine. I hopped out to have a chat and see if I could offer any of my bush mechanic skills (!) to help them. Unsurprisingly the job required surpassed my skills and instead I was asked to inform the people at the community down the road that the wheel bearing was broken so that the men there could come and help, then I was instructed to take the kids with me so that they could go to school. I was more than happy to oblige.
On the way home from school I was largely unsurprised to find the white Toyota unmoved. Someone from Mulga Bore had given me a car part to pass on to Harold, the owner of the 'mutaka'. Harold and Doreen had been sitting by their 'mutaka' all day. They had had visits from various people throughout the day I believe. Old Wendy was there when I arrived, eating her 'tinnameat' that she had just cooked on the fire. Doreen asked if I could bring them some water and I duly returned with that aswell as a billy, some tea, milk, sugar, bread and a few chops. They hadn't planned to break down and had nothing with them.
No one out here ever seems to plan to break down, but very often they do. When I think about the preparations we 'whitefellas' make for a journey of any distance it astounds me how far these people will travel with very little as backup. Often people will set off fully knowing that the car they are travelling in doesn't have enough petrol to get them where they're going, but they set off anyway, trusting that someone will stop and help them out.
Anyway, by the next morning two other car loads from the same family had arrived overnight to keep Harold and Doreen company. It was turning into quite a family gathering. I wandered over to see if there were kids to be picked up today and Violet, one of my teachers, popped her sleepy head up from her swag. Her older sister, who it seems had been awake for longer than Violet, asked her in language if she was going to school. Violet rubbed her eyes and said, "Lisa, I might go tomorrow."
By that afternoon when I drove by again, the Toyota had been moved off the road. It was fixed and they were packing up their makeshift camp ready to head for home. They returned my billy can with thanks and I watched them drive off in convoy.
Cars and family - two of the staples of life out here.