Inland north from Port August to the Barkly Tableland,
From the eastern blue-gray mountains to the Murchison’s red sand,
The plains and hidden valleys throughout that vast terrain
Know the heavy heady perfume
Of Mulga after rain.
Then you huddle in scant shelter as the daylight turns to rust,
And the wind blasts jagged patterns in the blinding choking dust,
The storm swirls muddy torrents, thunder crashes in your brain,
Welcome then the soothing fragrance
Of mulga greeting rain.
The glorious inland sunrise paints morning over night,
The rainbow’s changing colour blends to sunshine golden bright,
The beauty of the inland, so intense it’s almost pain,
Then the freshly scented breezes
Tell of mulga soft with rain.
The spinifex is blooming in wide fields like golden wheat
And parakeelya spreading in the shadows lush and sweet,
Myriad eyes of black and scarlet, Sturt peas cover all the plain,
But the delicate aroma
Is of mulga green with rain.
The everlasting daisies form a carpet pink and white,
A fairyland of frosting, a vision of delight,
Ghost gums dance in mystic moonlight to a whispering refrain,
Yet the spirit of the inland
Lives in mulga after rain.
See the glory of the inland as you travel far and wide,
Blooming flowers in the deserts where the willy willies ride,
But the haunting living memory to bring you back again,
Is the breath of pure nostalgia
Born of mulga scented rain.
By Dick Turner – ©