The Pony Express

500 horses dash madly across the country, as wiry young men, preferably orphans, make a constant 10+ mile dash full throttle. Jostling and riding spur in makeshift saddles, these men are on a mission- to deliver the mail as fast as they can through mail routes across the United States. Riding long into the nights, facing revolts from Indigenous People over land and with the news of the Civil War uprising, incredible respect and myth still fuels The Pony Express.

Needless to say, with the invention of new technology, no longer was horse-mail the fastest delivery system. Yet the legend still lives on today.

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So what do 500 galloping horses, running wild, have to do with a Corporate Country week?

Despite spending many hours in the city skyscape, hoping for a weather shift to provide fresh hope across our nation, my mind darts like panicking bull in a sale ring to the past and to the country. It’s the atmosphere, the yarns with strangers on the streets, the shape of lost architecture and the mindsets and attitudes that have developed today. It’s the story.

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So while lost in a world of another lonely hotel room, wondering minds find steady comforts in the investigation of the past. The unearthed wisdom of my Uncles and Aunties, forgotten tales of Aboriginal Stockmen from out west and the myths of The Pony Express. The realism of the forgotten lies dormant… Forgotten. Ignored.

As stockfeed is replaced for media and social feeds, my baited mind is present with the feelings of drought- baited by the exaggeration of a camera, dried further by quickfire remarks. Sparked by fear, the fire burnt by the analysis of the removed. It burns deep. Slow. But constant. In this rich, rugged land we share home.

As political views fuel flames further, an investigatory mind stumbles with old traits to the spaces far away, yet so close. Sunrises refract off foggy mornings with shimmering dams, begging for change, promising each new day. A morning blessing with unfiltered sunbeam light, warming days and heating fields.

A few spots of rain encourage the calves to play cheekily in open plains, as hay bales limited by stores for prices to rise. Roaming freely, unphased by the drying surrounds. Taking each day as it comes, growing peacefully by Worimi country lakes.

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