This afternoon I arrived in Sydney to begin my new harbor-side life, after a two-day car party.
Invitees were many, but attendees to this party were just one, just me.
Luckily, a car trip means I'm doing my favorite thing - moving forward, with a destination but no plan, just eddying along.
The coastal route is very beautiful, and thick with wild Christmas lilies right now.
I didn't take photos of the prettiness.
I have too many pretty photos, mostly unshared. They don't need the sharing, we have seen enough pretty.
But these images asked to be shown. We spend most of our lives worrying about disasters that never happen.
But sometimes they do.
But sometimes they do.
The leaves are clinging to the trees, but they are crisp, nothing moves. I hope to see these trees in new green when I next drive though, but don't know how badly they were burnt.
This devestation just goes on and on. It looks like nothing will ever live there.
But it will.
It already is.
Its only been 3 weeks since the fire, and brave little green shoots up.
It already is.
Its only been 3 weeks since the fire, and brave little green shoots up.
People can be like this, I hear.
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| Seashore being overlooked by the cematary, near Merimbula |
At dusk I arrived at this special little beach, and had a stretch, and a solitary dinner, the remains of the party food.
Then I went visiting.
Then I went visiting.
I've been fond of cemetaries for longer than balcony gardens, but for the same reason - they show people's character and lives, our strivings and sorrows.
Balcony gardens and Gravestones also show how hard it is to escape our culture - most of us just get what we are given. Most.
That its possible for so many people to be buried in unvisited graves saying 'unknown' makes me want to do something - couldn't they have befriended each other? How can so many of us be so close, yet so lonely ?
This poor fellow, he left so many people behind, including a little boy.
Who will make my headstone, I wonder? Who's will I make?
Lots of sadness ahead. But I can fit in lots of love before then, I must remember that.
This little lad never made it to being a grown-up. Now its just him and his board-stone, listening to the waves.
Here is a bloke who seems to have enjoyed his work and life.
But I do wonder about some families, about the limits of the Aussie sense of humor.
I drove on after the sun went down, then put on my pink frilly P.J.s, got out my Sheridan Sheets, and slept snug in my car in the forest. A 21st Century swaggie.
After very pretty drive in morning sunshine, I had the best breakfast with the good people of Marua. The cafe had country and western music, run by a nice couple. The wife was very round, with a blue flower in her grey hair. Customers included a real professional Elvis. The waifs had played there last night. They all knew and liked Permaculture. I kind of wanted to stay.
But already, my Sydney life has begun.
