Marty and the Baby Photos

Once there was a dark, stormy night in spring, when, deep down in their holes, the wombats knew not to come out, when the possums stayed quiet in their hollow limbs, when the great black flying phallangers that live in the mountain forest never stirred…

Oh, no. Hang on. That’s the birth story of Thowra, king of the brumbies. However, although I wasn’t present for Marty’s birth, I imagine his entrance into the world was very similar: even down in Australia, on the other side of the world, man and beast alike shuddered as they felt the veil between the Otherworld and ours weaken and release … something … into the realm of mortal men. Something small, something inconspicuous. Something cute, even. But between its mighty ears there lay a propensity for devilment unrivalled throughout all of history. What can we, mere flesh and bone, do against such wilful knavery? The trickster gods themselves avert their gaze from him! We have lost, and the world is changed.

The world is changed. I feel it in the water. I feel it in the earth. I smell it in the air. Much that once was is lost; for none now live who remember it.

Oops, I’ve fallen into the wrong story again. It’s easy to do with Marty as his origins are shrouded in mystery, his purpose unknown, his mind mercurial; he’s like fire and ice and rage. He’s like the night and the storm in the heart of the sun. And … he’s wonderful.

I was asked a while back to share some baby photos of the Chosen One; many thanks to Dianne Banks who took these photos eight years ago, and passed them on to me when I unknowingly became guardian of Marty, Preventer of Nice Things, four years later. It’s a role I take very seriously. Look upon my works, ye Mighty, and despair…