Acrylic on canvas

Poem by Rachael Middlebrook

Through the mist of the Snowy’s embrace,
A horsewoman rides at a steady pace.
Her mare steps sure, the packhorse near,
Together they move through the river clear.

The Thredbo whispers, swift and cold,
A song of mountains, timeless and bold.
The water swirls at the horses’ knees,
A dance with the current, a bond with the breeze.

The woman guides with a quiet hand,
Trust in her heart, one with the land.
Her breath meets the chill, her gaze holds true,
A trail of dreams in the mountain’s view.

Across they go, through the river’s song,
A trio united, steadfast and strong.
In the Snowy’s depths, their story flows,
Where the Thredbo runs and the cold wind blows.

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Acrylic on canvas

Poem by Rachael Middlebrook

Echoes in the High Country Hut
Beneath the peaks where the cold winds bite,
A high country hut glows warm at night.
Drovers gather 'round the campfire's gleam,
Sharing tales that drift like a mountain stream.

The walls hold secrets of seasons gone,
Of storms endured and the break of dawn.
Boots by the door, hats on a peg,
A kettle hums as the embers beg.

Stars spill silver through the timbered frame,
Each spark a whisper, each flame a name.
For in this hut, where the world feels wide,
Lives the heart of the bush, and the mountains' pride.

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Acrylic on canvas

Poem by Rachael Middlebrook

High on the range, by a snow gum's side,
A shed stands strong where the weary hide.
Its walls hold warmth, its firelight glows,
A place where healing quietly flows.

Travelers gather, their stories unfold,
Dreams reignite in the mountain’s cold.
Laughter and tears, the heart’s refrain,
In this simple shed, they find life again.

When dawn paints gold on the frosted crest,
They leave renewed, their spirits at rest.
The shed in Kosciuszko, humble and true,
Is a haven of peace in the mountain’s view.

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Oil on canvas

Poem by Rachael Middlebrook

Amidst the blaze, where mountains weep,
The brumbies rise from fiery sleep.
Smoke curls 'round their untamed grace,
Yet fire cannot their spirit erase.

Through scorched earth and ash they tread,
Shadows dancing where flames have fled.
In their eyes, the alpine gleams,
A land reborn in ancient dreams.

Their hooves mark trails of silent might,
Survivors crowned by the morning light.
Wild and free, their hearts endure,
A living pulse, fierce and pure.

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Oil on canvas

Poem by Rachael Middlebrook

Beneath the shroud of a silvered moon,
In misty veils where shadows croon,
The stallion stands, a ghostly guard,
High country wild, his realm unmarred.

On a mist-cloaked ridge where the moonlight falls,
The grey stallion waits as the wild wind calls.
His breath is a whisper, his shadow a ghost,
A silent watch on this mountain’s post.

Through the shifting mist, his gaze holds fast,
Protecting the night as shadows cast.
Each sound, each movement, he keeps in sight,
The steadfast guardian of the high country night.