Cattle bids made the auctioneer sing of prices not so bad, as he danced with an old rogue steer around the pen. The silent manoeuvre renders the crowd quiet, as the Boorowa lad lets out a familiar call, mirroring his late Dad. As the murmuring heartbeat starts again, the bustle continues on- this pen makes way for the next, the bidding starts again.
Around a circle, we ran. Words ushered, chanting for inclusion and for acceptance. When entering the ring we listed the traits in which we give, those in which we hope to embody for now and into the future. Song and candle flickering started the embracement of this place, and soon the joy, with a paradoxical serious undertone, became apparent.