The image of youth being nudged to dance on the Opera House steps makes me ponder our future. As a didge hums, clapsticks form a heartbeat and a young painted man sings the words of eternity. Forever, in one place, our ways and traditions captured for a time beyond now. And despite the many countries across this land that are represented, in this ring we are one.
Elders imprint the ground outlining the rhythm to old songs, as youth soar like eagles in their footsteps. Feathers move to a new beat, paddles swim through oceans and a drum beats from our brothers and sisters across the world. They too find comfort in this place, foreign yet welcomed.
As the stories of cultural revival and continuance, pride and passion sing out, it’s apparent that this place is ours. Even if only in the heart.
The next day, we joined the masses at The Grounds of Alexandria, passing our way past people who were looking to escape the bustling city. Overcrowded, we took a different approach back to Gloucester to recharge.
Christmas seemed to come by early here, as the tree was decorated in new items. I often forget that there are still firsts to have in our new little home, things that time will uncover and recommend as we go. So with a month out and a desire not to wait any more, the Christmas tree was decorated. Waiting for presents for additional joy, waiting for that one day.
It wasn’t long until it was back to Sydney, to celebrate achievement and farewell a work colleague. This year has been great for our business, coming together to really show what Indigenous People can do. As rain fell in the city, the farm called…
The drive home made me weary and seeking cattle views, so I made my way to the farm yesterday to check in on them. The weather change has allowed them to pick back up, playfully roaming the new grass and Pop’s long paddock.
And with that, some late nights and early mornings, who knows where the week went. Yet the beat buzzes in my soul to the lyrics of ancestors past. Our voice will be heard.