25 December 2011

On The Road

My peregrinations have bought me to Adelaide.

Tricky to spell word.

Peregrine like the falcon.

As in wandering, lazing through the sky.

Travelling.

Travels.

Rather than the falcon, the kestrel would be a more appropriate bird. We saw lots of kestrels seemingly effortlessly, floating, gliding, hovering, chest to the wind, on the drive from Canberra.

It is a good drive. Flat, flat, flat across the Hay Plains. Towns every 150 kilometres or less, at most 200 kilometres.

And there are lots of 5 kilometre markers. Which is a piece of genius. At 165 kilometres to go, 33 units counting down.

Count slowly.

So then to wander the valleys of my childhood. Literally I suppose, but only in homage to some eternal youthhood.

I drive to the top of Addison Avenue and park the car to enter Black Hill Conservation Park. On foot I hang a hard left in the general direction of The Sugar Loaves. Pausing on a zig zag descent leaves me overlooking a valley. There are ants everywhere so I seek the dustiest dust and kick off my thongs. Stamping out a circle free of their patter and nipper. It is a wide trail cut into the side of the hill to make it flat and I can enjoy the shade of a tree.

Time to play flute, but after chanting a little, the moment is sacred. There is natural cause to wash my hands, face, eyes, ears and lips, before playing. It is 36 degrees and the water cools me. I seem to have invented a cleansing ritual as I offer the hollow metal aloft above my head to heaven, seeking a deeper breath.

Music is a prayer.

AUM seems to reverberate through all the earth and tree. My voice is plucking the harmonic of nature from beyond the deep blue of the horizon.

At first, a dragonfly about my head hovers, back and forth. Whirling a little on the hillside the notes come, but I struggle to discover my resonance and relevance here upon the greatest stage of all. Alone with Nature. I want to capture all the space I see before me in my sound. It is loud.

A maelstrom of eidolons emerge from some unlit space. Mean thoughts attack I. 

My mind is as vast as the sky and nobody can tell me otherwise says the heart.

Really, who is in charge here?

Supreme is He, an ever-transcending summit.

Only a fool tries to compete with God's Beauty.

I drink from The Evening Cup of Peace and climb back upward.

Coming soon:

  1. Study of riverstone and cement wall construction in Rostrevor
  2. 150 year old Moreton Bay Fig pictorial (with centrefold)
  3. Consideration of soil erosion management techniques in Fourth Creek (see 1.)
  4. Hollow gumtree photographs (times two) - mighty boles guaranteed or your money back




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