And so ends this journey

It was back to the drudgery after being let loose into an environment I feel totally at ease within. The concrete and bitumen, artificial noise and grey feels again like a weight of monotony. Though, of course, we deal with the cards we are dealt as best we can but I know where my heart rests.

Nearing the end of my journey, on a slow deliberate wander into the rain soaked bushland to the south of Trentham near one of the highest aspects, Blue Mountain, noted for its soaring fire spotting tower - a reminder of the seasonal contrast of this countryside - I was struck by sight of the lush mosses growing upon and amidst Stringybark roots, often the exposed roots as wide as my arm. The ancient volcanic soil was loaded with moisture and grasses were sprouting with enthusiasm already amongst the leaf litter left over from autumn and winter. It is the soil, this Australian soil, that rests my devotion, inspiration and hope.

As I sat on a nearby boulder, I savoured the indigenous dreamscape, the silence except for that of zephyrs rustling the Australian flora, not a foreign leaf in the canopy to be seen and the chatter of a variety of flappers ranging from Rosellas through to excited Willy Wagtails and the riotous laughter of that quintessential Gondwana sound, the Kookaburra. How, I wished the moment to be longer and then some more.

And, so ends the journey. One of much healing that was surely needed and wondrous discovery. I've seen this past week or so places of vibrant colour claiming life once more following Drought breaking rains. Of vistas not seen in decade or more. It is to memory and emotion these are subscribed and a few cherished photographs. Though one thing is of certain, there will be more returns to see the landscape with its change guided by seasons. In this the strength to patiently endure my by circumstance, City existence, until my next breakout.

As is my habit, I scrawled a few lines into my Diary dated 10th September 2010.

Springtime Trentham

In the Trentham forests
winter wattles are the claim,
their flowers of sun offering spring;
peppermint, stringybark and manna too.

The rivers, creeks and waterfalls
are soaked and flowing with minerals
their cascades thunder across granites and basalts
as they have done since the dreamtime.

And daylight lingers perceptibly
felt in the unmistaken stir of renewal,
warming the soil that from devotion grows:
an Australian party has begun.



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