I walk the parkland between the tuarts by western Perry Lake and note the brown stains on the often bark-less trees. They’re scarred not by markings but by bore water waterings—the grass between them green. I look around the lake and note the reveg plantings, but with weeds on the shoreline between larger trees—a weeping willow even. More water here now that water from a nearby lake has been diverted, no longer heading out to sea. 

I look across the scene of brown barked trees and the green of grass between, created walking space with overhead canopy, thinking of movement as well as camping, noting a statue marking a large global scout gathering here, noting other unmarked gatherings in soil beneath. 

And I realise, where Europeans use water, Aboriginal people use fire—not with fear, but sustainably, creatively.