More.

The press seems to flow a bit steadier this week, with time spent in motion travelling along past routes. Penchant a lapse of sleep in recent days strangles days like these, warmer scorched earth and optimistic ground peeking interest in the mind. Slowly, it catches up, taking effort and distorting thoughts.

With tall trees pathing rear view mirror glances, the drive from Boorowa was one of hope. Hope that Nan’s front of positivity was truly how she felt when she gazed upon the landscape at Amerton, and hopeful that it wouldn’t be long until the red dirt clung again to an old pair of my boots. Hopeful that the legacy left will live on and that my piece in this jigsaw promises the legacy of my family for tomorrow.

Time ticked to Darwin travel, opening the landscape so ancient and so frail. Somehow, beautifully captured in dots and strokes, it still amazes me of painting replication of this land. Every piece, every memory, every tale- captured.

After a workshop overlooking sporting hopes, sails weathered harbour winds and deep sunsets. The land, beating in the presence of life still adapts, creating wisdom kept between the shores. It’s this knowledge I’ve spent most of the week pondering, how it works today, how we tell the stories, how we are still included.

This week I also was given the chance to speak to my former university’s new Ma and Morley Scholars, those who consciously chase values and beliefs while studying. Surrounded by those who reflect on war, research and rights, it’s the words that are not said to the group that lie dormant for interpretation, laying hidden for another day. Awaiting a question yet to be asked, in a time that may never come.

So today I ponder, reflect and take in the sun’s rays. I wonder what is left, what has been done and the value in our voices. What we need…

Today, my thoughts keep coming back to one word, one feeling. More.

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