A Place In My Heart

I land with the usual human clutter:
laptop full of tabs I’ll never close,
head buzzing like a phone on 2% battery.
You greet me with sky
so wide it makes my notifications
look like dust.

Western Australia,
you drop oceans in my lap,
spill turquoise like you’re
casually showing off.
It works.
I’m floored.

At home, we talk about green space
like it’s an endangered animal.
Here, the parks have names
that bloom in my mouth:
Karijini. Purnululu.
Not data points, not attractions,
wishes fulfilled.
Doors opening into red canyons
that make brick and concrete
feel like toys.

And the light!
It’s more than “sunshine.”
It’s a personality,
loud, confident,
the friend who refuses
to let you scroll your way
through the afternoon.

Your plants feel designed
by a genius of color theory:
wildflowers throwing paint everywhere,
trees swollen with colorful secrets.
The quokkas grin like
they’re in on a joke I’ll never get.
The cockatoos scream
as though volume is the whole point.
I kind of respect that.

It’s the silence that flips me.
The desert hush,
the horizon daring me
to keep staring until I disappear.
The earth reminding me:
you’re temporary,
so stop pretending otherwise.

And oh, the extras you sneak in:
Whale sharks ghosting by at Ningaloo,
their spotted backs like galaxies in motion.
Pink lakes shimmering
like glitches in the map.
Stromatolites in Shark Bay,
old as time,
holding the receipts for life itself.
Your sunsets don’t fade.
They detonate,
flaring so hard you’d swear
the sky was learning a new language.

I should mention the food,
the wine,
and Perth
all polished glass and beach towels,
city vibes with ocean hair.
Honestly, you’re too big to list like features in a brochure.

Western Australia,
you are a sentence I can’t finish,
an epic scrolling
out past the edge
of my comprehension.
I’m just lucky enough
to be here for a chapter,
trying to keep my eyes open
long enough to take you in.