Windimurra

Today is Tuesday 21st June, the sun is hot and bright on my face as I sit in front of our donger.   Our temporary home from home, here at Windimurra.

Home from Home

The only sounds to be heard are the gentle breeze moving the bushes before me and the flapping of the insect blinds in the doorway, with their weighted bottoms made from screws cobbled from who knows where! Birdsong and the hum of flies can be heard. The tranquillity is deeply felt and appreciated, no artificial noise that only humans can create in their self-absorption for comfort and the lack of consideration for polluting the natural sounds about.

I am privy to this wondrous peace, an integral part of the solitude of this place. Everything just is and is happy to be! No pressure, no stress, no stretching beyond the natural realms and boundaries, just a simple acceptance of the dance of life.

Natural bush for miles

Blue skies sit upon the horizon that has the appearance of circling me from this vantage point. Low level cloud and varying ranges of blue fill the sky. Every so often tiny birds (as they appear to be from here) dip and dive and then soar, going nowhere in particular but painting imaginary lines and patterns to my mind, just as an artist would take paint and the stroke of an arm to leave an impression at that moment in time. I too am entertained and enthralled by natures display, breaking the skyline with movement and life enjoyed.

Slowly the clouds float by the hills which can be seen in the far distance. How long have they stood watch over the far reaches of bush and shrub laid out at their bases? Like reliable, strong and sturdy sentinels, buffeted and baked by the changing weathers and seasons they stand tall.

Nothing by clouds in the sky

This deserted place, built by man, no longer bustling with excitement, noise and industry. Just the cold steel cases, waiting like empty mouths to be filled. How easy it would be for nature to claim back the stolen earth upon which these paths and buildings have cut into her. Standing out like the typical arrogant pride of man, with no sense and no feeling as to the damage that we do.

Windimurra camp among the bush

‘Maxwell House’ that is the name of this particular claimed space on the earth where I sit. Waiting for the parties to resume that so often used to fill the air with joviality alcohol and a desperate need to feel human in the magnitude of solitude here among the vibrations of nature.

It is winter and yet the sun still burns my face. The birds continue to sing and fly and the annoying fly has returned to hassle me back into the aluminum box where it knows I belong! Like most humans I too am so aware of my ineffectiveness and my in-consequence to nature. To them I am just as they are.

Evidence of a traveller upon the sand

It is only to other humans, through thought and deed that I may be considered to be anything. When do we stop caring about that, and come to a place of accepting and just experience BEING, with no other thought than to enjoy that moment and nothing more. Many of us still have a very long way to go.

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