Walking the creek we think about rubbish and our footsteps wading through weeds, and we talk about children and husbands and wives, what is lost that can never be recovered and what it is we have that will never be lost, and we can chat about football and why we love it and why we hate it, we talk about art, sing songs and compose poems in our heads, and we meet people along the bank, killing snakes and necking rabbits and loving their hardy dogs and their kids in tow. We sit and share our lunch and talk more about our kids, and we worry over the environment and meet the people setting fire to the land in the hope of nurturing it, and we say goodbye to each other in the late afternoon, knowing that we have to do something while never understanding what that something might be. And at the end of the day, when the stars come out, not giving up on us, the only gift we have, all we can do, all we can ever do, you, me and the kids and the dogs, is breath in and breath out – again.