A track less worn
in Wyrrabalong country
where the forest meets the sea
the hidden way winds along the headland
its overgrown track thick with the banksia‘s
and gums a May Gibbs world
of scrawly characters
as old man banksia stares down
to terrify snugglepot and cuddlepie
in this xerlerphyll remnant of forest
grass trees with their thick
green grug-like head of hair
act guard of honour
sway around us as we file
singularly through this other worldly place.
wattles and a few winter wildflowers
catch our attention
eucalypts spotted gums scribbles
river red gums and underfoot
leaf litter absorbs our steps
as if we are not there
and the ocean
with its shots of blue
like projected slides
each a new view through the trees
calls – breathe me . . .my healing air is yours
its glide roll crash then gentle lap
a breathed rhythm of in and out
the space between
a silent tension between life and death
and twice we clamber out
to a headland lookout
and watch the waves perform
the only other sound
wrens butcher birds
distant magpies and
the erratic scratch
of brush turkeys
I felt a lightness of being
walking this quiet way
the air fresh
aromas of salty sea, eucalypt
acacia and a woody balm
They say to argue on the side
of happiness
and even though back in reality the news
is full of fragmentation and distress
here for this time is beauty
to feed the soul
and I eat and drink every piece of nature
on the menu.
