Slender reeds dance under the rippling channels and birdsong drifts on the breeze, harmonising with the soft shushing of grasses.
WITH EYES CLOSED AND FACE directed to the barely fathomable beyond, there comes a tremendous awareness of the firm stone beneath my feet. This rock has been relentlessly pummelled by saltwater for millennia. Yet, even after all those thousands of years colliding with ocean and wind, it remains steadfast. With the same stoicism, the brisk coastal wind makes landfall from its journey beyond the horizon, whipping windcheaters into sails and tussling untethered hairs. And the ocean itself, bridled by lunar whims, carries on with its undeviating rhythm, in and out, in and out. It’s a cathartic reminder of just how insignificant our impression here is. None of us will outlive this stone, but some of us do leave a scarce but meaningful trace within it.
Eyes open now, my brain plunges into overdrive as it processes the beauty funnelled from retina to optic nerve. The information returns as sapphire-blue waters, clear and contrasted by rich, gold sands. A gently rippled, lagoon-like river patiently ebbs to embrace the Bass Strait, sidestepping the craggy yet dignified rock formations.
