Idiosyncrasy

It was a sorghum field, the drought had done its thing, until the final vital drop had gone into the atmosphere abandoning the emus and the 'roos. A spot of shade, it had been saved due to a trickle from the water tank, so green it looked a bit obscene a bed of sorghum straw had been arranged, where all of us, the ones who count, were resting weary bones tonight, a Southern moon reflected off the tin so dry it had not seen a dropp of rain in years. But not a care was present in our camp, as limbs were intertwined and simply nude, it was the ambience of a different world where idiosyncrasy had taken on a meaning.