by Ron Wilkins

Each summer we would go there,
Paula, the three small children and I
and the thing we most liked to do
was walk the several kilometres
above the tree-line to Mount Kosciuszko,
then return along the track by night.

At sunset, they would appear.
In some years few, but in others,
into the thin clear mountain air
the Bogong moths would swarm
in millions and dance
to their destiny in a few frenetic hours.

And something truly wondrous –
in the dusk you could walk
through this dense and noiseless
moth-cloud, as if protected
by some invisible force field,
and nothing would touch you.

Afterwards we would take the track
down the mountain and across
the alpine meadows in the moonlight,
to be welcomed, two hours later
at the end of the trail,
by a guard of snow gums honouring

our return like explorers
from forbidden regions
they had never dared themselves to enter.