CRESCENT SCHOOL Nicholas Haughton

36.07222°S 148.34861°E

MOUNT KOSCIUSZKO

A gum nut dropped, A wombat scurried to its burrow, The creek rushed past the rocks. Mount Kosciuszko was special.

The mountain somehow managed to capture the summer. It held something intangible and charismatic. Things only you could discover in that instant. Was it the rustle of the eucalyptus trees?

Or was it the warm glow of the peak above?

People bustling in and out of shops, Often holding the hand of an excited child, Anticipating the day ahead.

As I think about these experiences now, As I remember myself as that child, I realize how many things mindlessly pass by. Did I really notice the beauty of that mountain?

Did I overlook the weathered sandstone, Molded grain by grain over an unimaginable sum of years?

I can’t forget that mountain, or the connections it created. I can’t forget dawdling across the rickety bridge. Or hiking through the dense bush of the national park. Kosciusko will always hold an innocent and adventurous part of me,

Forever longing to return.