He must have been tired six days out from Sydney town, having been shown some ancient cataracts and arable pastureland dormant beneath primitive sclerophyll forest. Having accounted for Hobart’s intricate grace from the top of Mt Wellington – rising sea levels seemed to say it all, now how do I get down? The guide didn’t know. They traipsed about, lost, for several hours. He’d been away from home a long time, missing the comfort of his bed, perhaps. Banks was right, plenty of Banksias. Somewhere along the track to Bathurst someone produced a curious creature the excellent flat-footed, duck-bill platypus with its poisonous spur and habit of laying eggs. What place might such a being have in his new schema of regarding the world? He must have been tired for as records fail to show Darwin gave a little shrug, a stifled yawn as he handed the creature back, not curious, no. Nor quite ready to yield up God, despite God, hereabouts, being nowhere to be seen.
Feature image via 'Art Collection - The Metropolitan Museum of Art'