Under a waning moon. We are with the aunties of this country; the elders are here with their bon- fire of light. They talk and their words grab our souls and shake 'em up. Tears and laughter rush out together until there is no difference. They talk about this land as if it is their child, they talk about their children as if they are their grand parents; they talk of love without the in between words. They are real and we are honoured to be here with them on their land.