We camped beside the crystal lake, a lake shimmering white.
Then watched the statues disappear as dusk turned into night.
There was no moon, no breeze at all, yet we heard a murmur.
Was it from those sightless figures, encrusted in the mire?

Quick glances over our shoulders, were those movements we saw?
Was it imagination? Were they closer in to shore?
Were figures creeping closer while we sipped in stars’ pale light?
They’re coming out to visit? Did they come to life at night?

Why did we stop and camp alone, with no-one else around?
Was this to be terrible ‘Wolf Creek,’ gone without a sound?
Or was it like ‘Toy Story’ where the figures come to life.
Maybe the ‘Sorcerers Apprentice’ getting into strife.

Are they mates with the local emus, the ‘roos and native dogs,
Whose tracks appear each morning all over the salty bogs.
But wait a sec’. Are their shadows stealthily coming closer?
Was the murmuring and whispering growing much louder?

The voices in the darkness were getting really strident,
A great number raised in anger, just as noisy crowds went.
Others groaning pitifully, straining to lift salt feet.
Had we invaded privacy, intruded on their street?

I grabbed the torch but its dim glow made it even eerier.
By now things weren’t too good because Sue was getting tearier.
With feigned and studied nonchalance we grabbed our drinks and ran,
To the apparent safety of our lockup Sprinter van.

There we huddled close together, as the noise really increased,
Replaced by wilder shaking, the van rocked beyond belief.
For a desert gale had come up, we suddenly realised,
And with great relief we crashed, ……. and tightly closed our eyes.

By dawn’s red light I checked that lake, for new tracks close to shore
And there in all their darkness were fresh tracks around our door.
Had these sightless aliens come visiting in the night
Or had they remained embedded out on their lonely sites?