And since 1844 they have, we have, been meeting on our rich soft soil, under our sky; meeting to celebrate the fruits of the earth; meeting for the Show. And for a few days, we set an intention for the brief forfeit of our labour, and in its place, we pursue the art of leisure.

And when the show is here, the dark Louth Park night is lit bright by the lights of the rides. We see them as we come across Les’ road, as we come home across the creek, see them flicker against the forever sky above - like we always did …

And the rain found a way to fall too dear reader, like it always does. There’s no greater drought breaker than our Show, no greater magnet for precipitation than those few calendar days of Maitland Show - and so it goes.

And nature sent her storms to paint the sky too. And a gully-raker came lurching in from out Kurri Kurri way on Friday; menacing, raw and ancient it came, bursting and thundering across the fields and streets, filling the town with her primordial charm.

And a Maitland electrical storm sky is a grand thing to see dear reader. And I suspect from verandahs and windows across the town we might have sat and stared to the heavens, might have remembered back to the Show when we were young, thought back to the face of someone now gone…

And I went out into the town dear reader, went driving and walking and felt the gentle rhythm of life around here: saw you sitting quiet and calm out the front of a Morpeth and Hinton pub, saw you watching the sky.

And I saw you acting in, and watching a play down at the beautiful old Repertory Theatre. Saw the story unfold before my eyes on High Street, suspended my belief and was actually there on that train with the strangers, while outside, the river and the street murmured along - like it always did…

And I heard you breathing on your yoga mat, heard your bike sail by on Flat Road, heard your feet moving through the grass and gravel, heard you taking care of yourself, heard your paddle on the water near The Falls, heard you making yourself feel better - felt your heart beating strong and true.

And I saw you smile and wave at the cricket, saw you in the shady geranium garden, saw you at the cafe, at the counter of the shop, at the traffic light and on the bridge, saw you hold the door open for your wife, your mum, for your love.

Saw you walking with the kids down in the Park, saw you surging across Ziggy’s bridge, saw you having a durry between ends at the bowling club. 

Saw you living on the floodplain – like you always did …

And so it goes.

 Goodnight.

Waiting, festering crime