Snaky Creek and Other Place Names

Snaky Creek, just out of Manna Hill (ironic given the arid country, but then, perhaps not so ironic: I wonder if quails fall from the sky around here?!). Not Snake Creek. Or Big Snake Creek. Or Black Snake Creek even. But an adjectival snaky, suggesting deviousness. A slipperiness. A snakiness. And perhaps a sense of humour on the part of those who named it? Or was it such a pit of vipers that’s perpetual snakiness had to be perpetually commemorated those of us passing through? As I jot some notes wondering all this we roll over Cockscomb Creek then Winnininnie Creek. My musing about naming places dries up – to be replaced by a setting ball of yellow fire which makes driving a chore, and both of us wish the bugs on the windscreen had been removed when we had a chance, such is the now refracting light. But the fire lights up the distant jagged landform, dusting the rock with a yellow halo which reduces us to silence. The art and colour is off a palette none of use could devise.

The Invisible Story

Sometimes, perhaps even “most-times” the image betrays the true story. Take Monty here for example. Young nephew charming up the camera, and in whose mouth no butter would melt. Pretty normal grin for a kid, especially given he has just been gently scolded by his father.  Scolded for what the whole picture should show – naked from the waist down and straddling the tassled rug stripped from the couch, the tassles being dragged backwards and forwards between his legs. I guess he must have figured it felt good. His Dad’s response still echoes in my ears and makes me laugh – “Oh Monty, that’s not proper.” I reckon if Mum had not been at work that day there might have been a different response altogether.

Isn’t the internet a wonderful thing? Now an uncle can fire off memories like this, from the other side of the globe, and have it shared with Monty’s friends at the same time.