West Coast stones
Words by Michael Leunig
God bless the lone tunnellers; those rare individuals whose joy and passion it is to dig mysterious tunnels beneath the surface of the earth; who share the soulful purpose of moles and worms; who labour gleefully beneath our feet while we bask in the sun or gaze at the stars; whose pockets and cuffs are full of soil; who dig faithfully in darkness, turning left and right, not knowing why or where, but absorbed and fulfilled nevertheless. Under houses; under roads and statues; beneath and amongst the roots of trees; on elbows and knees; carefully, steadily pawing at their beloved earth; sniffing and savouring the rich odour of the dirt; dreaming and delighting in the blackness; onwards and onwards, not knowing day or night; unsung, unadorned, unassuming, unrestrained. Grimy fingernailed angels of the underworld: we praise them and give thanks for their constant, unseen presence and the vast labyrinth they have created beneath our existence. We praise them and give thanks. AMEN.
Posted in mindfulness of the Pike River Coal Miners and our grieving West Coast community.