Gurnang
A true story
I am Gurnang.
I was named by the First People, the Wadawurrung, already old in wisdom at my birth.
Bunjil sent thunder and lightning; the earth shook and sank. Rainwater filled the shallow basin. Thus was my mother, Borrong Gook, born.
Borrong Gook and her sister bulluk suckled the earth with nourishing water. Mighty beal and other trees grew tall around their banks. Tarrak, green and thick, fringed their margins. Turput and buniya flashed silver in the shallow waters and the joyful little folk of the djirrim thronged and croaked.
My mother’s bounty was more than the earth could absorb. So she bore me and my siblings. My siblings were sickly and weak and soon sank into the earth. I, Gurnang, grew strong.
I cut my way through the fruitful crumbling earth to Narrm Narrm, the big salt water where the black swans meet. It was hard work, and sometimes I tired and paused, but I am persistent. Bunjil sent me strength.
I surveyed my work. Jagged cliffs lined my course, their clay bound by the roots of sturdy beal, slender, singing sheoke, graceful yellow gum, fragrant wattle.
Cautious, armoured barbin and inquisitive rakali hunted yabbies in my sparkling waters. Myriad creatures built their homes in my soft banks, from sturdy, bumbling…
