Away
The change of scenery was refreshing, to say the least. Staring at the miles of empty meadows, I found myself emptying my mind of haunting worries and plaguing thoughts, as if it was necessary to make room in one's head to accomodate such horizons.
And so you find, in your mind, a landscape where only essential lines have been sketched, a canvas blank except for barebone strokes. A landscape dotted with occasional herds of cows, your attention drawn to the pattern of their patches, the occasional cluster of sheep, squeezing to fit under a lean shadow of a tree. The odd house, some shops or a barn, here and there, a tractor or a harvester.
Every field a golden sea of grass, sunburnt and sun-tainted, slender stalks nodding their heads to the breeze in agreement of life beautiful.
Every flower a tribute, every tree a masterpiece of art.
We joined the family at their camp by the Murray River. "On crown land", we were told. So strange to hear those words, to be reminded that we are still bound to a country far on the other side of the world, to its crown.
The land was brown and dusty. The town was a little less brown. There would have been more to do if we had chosen to stay longer, but by the time we had finished walking the length of the wharf, it was 5 o'clock and the shops had shut. So we strolled through the streets, peering through windows, marvelling at the quietude and the lack of people. Crossing the road was an interesting exercise too; cars appeared to be driven much slower here, and I had trouble gauging the gaps.
I took photographs until the battery ran down. Dinner at an Irish pub with a specials board that only seemed to offer variations of chicken. Rounds of cards back at the campsite of which I won only one.
But it was so lovely, so immeasurably lovely, to be away from the daily toil, the daily duties, the daily struggle for words to express myself, the daily fight to fit in. To be jerked into awkward awakening by the obnoxious laughter of kookaburras. To stand under graceful gums, wishing that I knew their names, to gasp in amazement under a ceiling of stars, all of whom were anonymous to me, just as I was anonymous to them.
[Corresponding dandruff flake] [Comment?]
14 January 2002, Monday, 9:43 PM
Alter ego of dandruff
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