When I arrived, I didn't expect what I found. Beyond the heart of Mildura's intimate world; the nature, thriving community and small town feel, the roots were intwined and connected, linking the people (both writers and locals) to the festival.
As days rolled in due course, crops began to grow in the lecture rooms and our minds, revealing eye widening citrus and lip curving content when I slowly peeled back the orange husk.
The sweet juicy centre of ripened writers blew my mind. I'm not saying that every writer was my taste. I harvested from those who spoke to my essence, taking the fragments that were sweet on the ear, unknowingly walking into a feast of knowledge in each lecture.
The writers that stood out for me, I interviewed alongside my partner. Thomas Keneally was one subject, vibrant of colour and wisdom. He over most branched out of the writer line up, as I set my eyes on palatable potentials.
For a man so wrinkled and ripe on the outside, is so full of life on the inside.
He gave me a taste of his journey, telling stories about "residing back into a child like state", a technique he grasps to structure his writing. He has grown so long in the literate sun that he has absorbed the rays of wisdom, now glowing from his essence. It is no wonder he is an amazing writer.
Tom has grown and planted idea seeds in many, making him a obvious meal for the mind, ripe for the picking.
You've written a prose poem here Emel - bravo!
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