Mae took off her coat, hanging it over the back of the chair, and sat down.

 

She noticed Joe had milk in his beard. Just a hint of it near his lips, too absorbed to notice, and unaware

 

that he had extended to Mae an unexpected intimacy.

​

Joe kept close company with himself, entry guarded by the irreverent beard of a Bushranger, and indeed he was borne of one,

 

so he said. And as he was a Bushranger  he was a man of ferocious honesty. And Mae believed him.

​

Full, red, more red than black, he was of the breed of men whose story remains untold until they grow a

 

beard. The hair on the head, sits benign, nut brown, or almost black, curls, sandy,  cedar flecked, thatched,

 

fine, flat, flicks until suddenly, three days after shaving, a show of red on the shores of a deep black beard,

 

 bright as copper, shining brilliant in the  sun. Sprouting quickly, rooted deeply, a primal, rudimentary,

 

crude, visceral, organic,wild, natural display, deeply masculine, a beard to yank a man from boyish

 

giggling mouthfuls of frightened amusement, sun kissed, floppy haired, wet lipped, lean hipped, now

 

bearded and roaring at the edge of cliff-tops demanding outrageous things of the sea , leading men into

 

battle on thighs like clever mountains,  victory blazing forth from a face pained with lines, leading an

 

ancient script of self-knowledge,  a beard with which to divine and find passion where feet travel

 

underfoot, make a man hate his father then love his father, make him ride a horse or smell like a horse,

 

make him spit when he shouts and piss in his armour and tear meat from the bone, and seek death alone,

 

and blow out the lights and rage like a demon, timeless and fearless, and walk without words  from the

 

woman he loves, and burst like a dam and chew down his nails and cry for his brother, for betrayal, cry

 

tears in the dust and bleed tears in the dust and run headlong naked into a river with senses high and

 

thoughts quiet and no idea how beautiful he looks in that moment, on strong thighs like mountains.

​

Joe looked up.

​

‘Mae, what’s wrong?’

 

‘Hey’, he grinned.

‘Did you find what you were looking for?’

 

The milk made mild his brutal self-sufficiency.