29 Jan 2013
In our little home when all are sleeping and crickets chirp melodically; rhythmically, we talk. Conversations roll effortlessly from day to day this and that and meander with much laughter and sometimes tears. We chat of life and love. We voice our dream of packing up all our worldly possessions in cardboard boxes, heaving them onto rumbling trucks and moving away. With each talk our words paint more delicate detail in our vision somehow almost willing it into existence.
Sometimes we yearn for land; open grassy hillocks for rambling and rolling, thickets of bushland tempered with cooling and ever changing creeks, thick callousey trees to wrap our limbs about and tangle our hearts in.Then other times we long to wake to the sound of gentle waves tickling the morning shore. To daily feel sand and salty bubbles between our toes and to come alive under the spell of the ocean. The common thread is always nature. We want to live close to this earth.
Come what may, the time is not right for this dream to blossom. With each beautiful chat we wrap it up carefully and tuck it away where time and neglect can neither wither nor harden it. Some day we will peel back its layers and read in depth this blueprint for our life together. Some day....but not this day.
Today we must choose to bloom where we are planted. Today we must pack little baskets with fruit and water. We must don walking shoes and hats and head to places of foliage; of nature. Tucked amongst sprawling estates of houses, hidden behind service stations and takeaway curry restaurants there are little slices of green worlds. Places where the air is permeated with the distinct smell of the bush, where cicadas ring in your ears and there are tracks that call for one foot in front of the other with no real destination but a chance to just be.
We contacted our local council for information about bushland reserves and national parks in our suburban area. We were astounded to discover how many there were right under our noses.